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1 




"'In another second Turkey had the child in 

his arms" Page 104 



THE LITTLE GIRL 
FROM BACK EAST 


BY 

ISABEL J. ROBERTS 

II 


NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

I 

1911 


PRINTEKS TO THE 
HOLY APOSTOLIO SEE 


PUBLISHERS OP 

benziger’s magazine 




Copyright, 1911, by Benziger Brothers 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. New Friends 7 

II. An Insect Cave-Dweller . . 22 

III. The Jungle 31 

IV. The Ostrich Farm .... 38 

V. ‘‘Miss Fishy” 49 

VI. “Terrible” 59 

VII. The ’Gator Man .... 67 

VIII. The ’Gator Man (Continued) . 74 

IX. Nick Carter 84 

X. The “Corkscrew” .... 92 

XL The Rescue 101 

XII. “Lilly Missy” Ill 

XIII. Going Away 121 


6 






THE LITTLE GIRL FROM 
BACK EAST 


CHAPTER I 

NEW FRIENDS 

I T was at the close of a January day 
when Mrs. Day, her two children, and 
Jane, the old nurse, arrived in Southern 
California. A furnished house had been 
leased for them beforehand, and they 
drove at once to their new home. The 
house was on the outskirts of the town. 
The blue mountains, that the crystal air 
brought very near, made a ravishing set- 
ting for the rose-laden gables and balco- 
nies, while the wide, rambling grounds 
were thickly set with orange and lemon 
trees, palms, and semi-tropical shrubbery. 

Mrs. Day and her little family crossed 
the broad veranda. A big Dutch door 
opened directly into the living-room — 


8 


New Friends 


made of redwood with a heavy raftered 
ceiling. Books, pictures, and cloths of 
strange weaves covered the walls, and 
there were Indian baskets everywhere of 
all sizes and patterns. In the capacious 
fireplace fagots of cypress and oak were 
piled up ready for kindling. 

The Chinese “boy” met them with a 
grave smile of welcome. In his small per- 
son he united the offices of cook, butler, 
and man-of-all-work. He looked scru- 
pulously neat and clean in his white linen 
coat, white apron, and embroidered san- 
dals. It was evident that he had had a 
fresh hair-cut, which, for John Chinaman, 
means a clean shave to the width of two 
inches round the forehead to the nape of 
the neck ; and in honor of the occasion his 
tightly braided hair was left unbound and 
further lengthened with a black silk tas- 
sel. 

With an air of pride and dignity he 
conducted his new mistress and her fam- 
ily through the well-appointed house, fin- 


New Friends 


9 


ishing up with the kitchen as if he had 
left the best for the last. It was full of 
savory odors rising from steaming pots 
and escaping from oven doors, and the 
shelves, covered with white paper care- 
fully cut into points and scallops, were 
decorated with shining rows of scoured 
tins and burnished copper. Then, seem- 
ing to think that his duty as cicerone was 
done, he allowed his new “people” to 
make the rest of the way alone, and shut 
himself up in his own quarters. 

If any one had asked Mrs. Day why 
she had come to California she would have 
said, without hesitation: 

“To give Polly a holiday. Polly has 
mothered the babies and bossed us all 
until we have got on her nerves — and she 
on ours. I want to get her away from 
her maternal responsibihties and try to 
make a little girl of her.” 

Polly was only twelve, but she was the 
oldest of four children, and the only girl. 
Before she was old enough to be taken 


10 


New Friends 


into account as a personality she had a 
watchful eye on her three httle brothers, 
and saw to it that they had on their over- 
shoes when it was damp and their muf- 
flers when it was cold. At first this was 
a great comfort to Mrs. Day, for she was 
an artist and spent much of her time in 
her studio, but when she found that her 
little daughter, not satisfied with mana- 
ging the small brothers, was beginning to 
take father and mother in hand, Mrs. 
Day made up her mind that Polly must 
have a change. 

Buddy, the youngest child, now four 
years old, was not very strong, so Mrs. 
Day had left the two older boys with 
their father and grandmother in the 
New England home, and had come to 
spend the winter in California for 
the moral good of the eldest and the 
physical good of the youngest of her 
children. 

Polly rose early the morning after her 
arrival, so that she might have a good 


New Friends 


11 


long day. She dressed quickly and went 
out on the balcony on which her room 
opened. So many birds were singing at 
once that it seemed like stepping into a 
huge aviary. The mountains were so 
intensely blue that the very air seemed 
to partake of the same color. Buddy 
and Jane were under Polly’s window, 
fairly shouting with delight over two lit- 
ters of skye-terrier puppies which they 
had discovered were also included among 
their new possessions, while the proud lit- 
tle mothers wagged their bits of tails 
gratefully. Yuen, the Chinese servant, 
came up carrying a basket of brushwood 
and stopped to chatter unintelligibly to 
the dogs, and to smile good-naturedly 
upon Buddy and his nurse. 

“Come away from the dogs this very 
minute!” Polly cried, impulsively, from 
the balcony. 

The mother’s voice answered her. 

“Polly, dear, I want you.” 

Polly obediently went down the bal- 


12 


New Friends 


cony steps to the piazza below and stood 
before her mother’s window. 

“Polly, my child, I am going to ask 
you to begin your life here by not order- 
ing anybody about. If I can trust 
Buddy to Jane, don’t you think you can? 
I want you to consider yourself just a 
guest in this beautiful home. All that 
is asked of you is to be happy — and 
please don’t try to run things.” 

Polly hung her head. She knew what 
her mother meant, and was sorry she had 
forgotten so soon. 

“Oh, Polly, come look at the birds!” 
Jane called. 

Mrs. Day nodded and away Polly 
went, the shadow already lifted from the 
eager little face. Oh a stand under a 
shady tree was a large bird cage, in which 
were two canaries. Jane was feeding 
them through the wires and the birds were 
breaking into all sorts of musical notes 
by way of thanks. 

Just think,” said Jane, *^they live out- 


New Friends 


13 


of-doors all the year round. It’s no 
wonder they sing!” 

Polly was so taken with the birds that 
she ran back to her mother to ask if she 
might not have the exclusive care of the 
small songsters, and Mrs. Day smiled to 
herself as she gave the coveted permis- 
sion. “Polly must mother something,” 
she thought. 

Polly cleaned the cage that very morn- 
ing, and hunted about the grounds till 
she found a bed of chickweed, wonder- 
ing meanwhile what she should call her 
birds since there was no way of telling 
their real names. Those first few days 
were all too short for the little girl. 
She felt as if she were stranded on a 
beautiful island, like the Swiss Family 
Robinson, and everything seemed a fresh 
discovery. Jane and Buddy went 
about in the same spirit, although Jane 
did say that it appeared to her like fly- 
ing in the face of Providence to take 
your summer in the middle of winter. 


14 New Friends 

and she did hope no harm would come 
of it! 

One morning before the week was out, 
Polly woke with the feeling that there was 
nothing to do. She missed Jack and 
Bob, the little brothers at home and 
she missed her schoolmates. It seemed 
strange to have no neighbors. The next 
place was a large ranch behind a high 
cypress hedge topped with orange trees 
that were loaded with fruit. So dense 
was the green that the house behind it 
was completely shut from view. Polly 
thought the place looked stiff and solemn. 

After breakfast she went out on her 
balcony to study her lessons. She had 
begun her daily school work so as to keep 
up, as much as possible, with her classes 
at home. Her canaries were singing 
blithely, a mocking-bird was vaulting 
high in the air for insects, and every once 
in a while swooping do^vn upon the house- 
cat whenever she came too near his partic- 
ular tree. 


New Friends 


15 


“Now that old mocking-bird is teasing 
my canaries!” said Polly, looking up 
from her book. 

It certainly looked like the same bird 
Polly had been watching. There was the 
same black and gray plumage marked 
with white, the same graceful shape. 
But it had changed its gay note into a 
harsh, rasping call. It was dashing it- 
self first against one side of the cage and 
then the other, and there was a wild beat- 
ing of yellow wings within. Polly was 
about to run down to see what it all meant 
when there was a rifie shot and the beau- 
tiful bird dropped dead. Polly went 
down the steps two at a time just as a 
boy broke through the cypress hedge, 
rifle in hand. He was a big boy with a 
brown skin and a thick crop of sunburned 
hair, his corduroy trousers stuffed into a 
pair of high-laced, dust-colored boots. 
He seemed all of a color, and Polly was 
sure she was facing one of the terrible 
cowboys she had read of, but for the mo- 


16 New Friends 

ment she could think only of the shot 
bird. 

“How could you do such a cruel 
thing?” she cried, with blazing eyes. 
“You had no right to shoot on our 
grounds!” 

The boy looked at her, and then at the 
bird in his hand. 

“Why, this is a butcher-bird,” he said, 
bluntly. “ Look at your canaries if you 
want to know why I shot it.” 

One of the birds was lying dead at the 
bottom of the cage, the other clung 
feebly to its perch. Polly was ready to 
cry, but she kept back the tears and said, 
in her most dignified manner: 

“I thought it was the mocking-bird. 
I thought he was just playing.” 

“No; it’s the shrike, the butcher-bird,” 
the boy said. “I heard his call, but I 
couldn’t get my rifie any quicker. If 
you look close, you’ll see he isn’t like the 
mocker. He has a hooked bill like the 
hawk. That shows he is a bird of prey. 


Nem Friends 


17 


And that black line across his bill and 
eyes makes him look as if he wore a black 
mask like a burglar. He’s a mean bird. 
He’s always plotting mischief. If it’s a 
smaller bird or a grasshopper he kills it 
and sticks it on a thorn or a short twig 
till he’s ready to eat. That’s his cold 
storage. He’ll imitate the call of little 
birds and then drop on them and kill 
them just for the fun of it. He’s a 
coward, I tell you what. Delia will be 
awfully sorry about the canaries. They’re 
old friends of hers.” 

“Who’s Delia?” 

“Delia’s my sister. We live on the 
ranch. You’re the little girl from Back 
East, aren’t you?” 

“I’m from Boston, if that’s what you 
mean!” 

“It’s all the same,” the boy said, coolly. 
“How old are you?” 

“Twelve.” 

“That’s just Delia’s age, but she would 
make two of you, honest. Delia was 


18 


New Friends 


raised in California. You’ll know it 
when you see her. IVe got to go — I’m 
out for snakes.” 

“Snakes!” gasped Polly. 

“Yes, rattlers. I’ve got to get my 
spiked stick.” Picking up his rifle, the 
boy disappeared through a break in the 
hedge. 

Polly opened the cage door and took 
up the dead bird tenderly. The other 
bird seemed to be reviving from its fright, 
and responded to Polly’s gentle words 
with encouraging little chirps. The next 
morning Polly went into the garden to 
see how her bird was getting along. 
There was a big girl standing sorrowfully 
at the cage, holding a motionless bird in 
her hand. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Polly, “is it dead? 
I’m so sorry! I thought it would live.” 

“It is poor little Betty,” said the girl. 
“Turkey told me about the shrike. She 
was too badly scared to get over it.” 

There were tears in the big girl’s eyes. 


New Friends 19 

“What have you done with Dickey?” 
she asked. 

“He’s in the house. I thought perhaps 
you would like to see him before I buried 
him.” 

Delia was a big girl with a little girl’s 
face. Her hair was in thick brown curls 
cropped to the neck. Her eyes were 
very brown, too, and her cheeks were a 
sunburned red. Her neat blue gingham 
frock came to her shoe-tops. Her hands 
were remarkably large and so were her 
feet, but they were well-formed and re- 
fined. Polly thought Delia the most 
beautiful girl she had ever seen, and felt 
small and insignificant beside her. For 
ever after Delia would be Polly’s stand- 
ard of comparison. 

Polly ran to the house and presently 
returned with Dickey in a box lined with 
a bit of white silk. There was room for 
Betty beside her little mate, and Delia 
pulled aside the low sweeping branches 
of a blue spruce and dug a shallow grave. 


20 


New Friends 


There was a movement in the dry grasses 
and a horned toad popped out. Polly 
jumped back, thinking of “rattlers,” and 
Delia laughed. 

“That’s Billy. He won’t hurt you. 
It’s my horned toad.” 

She caught him fearlessly, scratched 
his head with the tip of her finger, and 
then turned him over on his back, where 
he lay as if hypnotized. 

“If you frighten them they spurt blood 
from their eyes,” said Delia, letting the 
toad go. 

Then she looked at Polly curiously. 
Polly was in a fresh white frock, her long, 
light brown hair was in smooth braids 
wound round her head, and tied on each 
side behind the ear with a blue ribbon. 
She had a bright, wide-awake look, and 
her manners were those of the well-bred 
city girl. Delia thought she had never 
seen any one so pretty, so dainty in her 
life before, and suddenly felt clumsy 
and oversized. 


New Friends 


21 


“Turkey told me all about the shrike,” 
said Deha, thinking of the birds again. 

“Turkey told you!” said Polly, puz- 
zled. 

“Yes; he’s my brother.” 

“Oh, the big boy who killed the 
shrike?” 

“Yes, but he’s only fourteen, even if he’s 
nearly six feet tall.” 

“Aren’t there any little people out 
here?” Polly said. 

Deha laughed. 

“I should say! Are you going to 
school?” 

Polly shook her head importantly. 

“Not this winter — mother thinks I can 
afford to lose a year. Do you go to 
school?” she asked. 

“I should sayl” replied Deha. 


CHAPTER II 

AN INSECT CAVE-DWELLER 

^ ^ T ’m going spider-hunting!” said Delia 
JL Scott, a few days later, appearing 
suddenly at the break in the cypress hedge. 
“Do you want to come along?” 

“It doesn’t sound very attractive,” 
Polly replied, in her grown-up way. 

“Oh, but I’m talking about trap-door 
spiders. They are a lot of fun. I have 
to have one for home-work — ^we’ve got 
to describe them in the P. G.” 

“The P. G., please?” 

“Yes; Physical Geography Class. 
Come along!” 

Delia was armed with a trowel and a 
large sheath-knife. She looked so war- 
like that Polly’s love of adventure got 
the better of her dislike of spiders, and, 
after asking her mother’s permission the 
little girl set off with her companion. 


An Insect Cave-Dweller 23 

‘‘It’s a spider that burrows in the 
ground, and it shuts its house with a trap- 
door,” said Delia, volubly, as they 
climbed the nearby foothills. When 
they came to the summit they began their 
search, but except for a deep hole here 
and there, where evidently a nest had 
been dug out and carried away, there was 
no sign of the spider. 

“The trap-door spiders are hunted and 
sold to the curio-shops, nest and all,” 
said Delia. “They pay two bits for a 
good specimen. Tourists buy them, you 
know. But the spider has to be killed, 
and I don’t think I should like to do that 
for money, should you?” 

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t kill a 
spider for anything!” said Polly, with 
emphasis. 

“Oh, here is a nest that has been thrown 
away!” exclaimed Delia. 

The trap-door fell back loosely on its 
hinges. The silk nest was torn. Polly 
examined it curiously. 


24 An Insect Cave-Dweller 

“Some of the nests are a foot deep and 
an inch across,” Delia said, “but you 
don’t find them often.” 

The two girls went together step by 
step over the hillside, but without success. 

“It’s worse than hunting for a four- 
leaf clover,” Polly said, straightening up 
with a sigh. 

“We’ll have to give it up for to-day,” 
said Delia, regretfully. “ It’s time to go 
home. I have to help mother with the 
supper.” 

The next morning before breakfast 
Polly was on the hillside armed with some 
formidable weapons she had found hang- 
ing against the wall in the redwood room. 
To her great delight she came almost at 
once, and as if by accident, upon a 
spider’s nest. Looking just like a crack 
in the sun-baked soil, except that it was 
a beautifully defined semi-circle, was 
the much-desired tight-fitting trap-door 1 
Polly began to ply her tools industriously, 
and then realizing that she did not know 


An Insect Cave-Dweller 25 

how deep to go, or in what direction, she 
stopped digging and looked about for a 
long straw to sound the nest. But when 
she attempted to open the trap-door she 
found it as firmly closed as if bolted on 
the inside. She persevered until the door 
gave, and at the same time a huge black 
spider dropped back into the nest. 

“I believe he was holding the door 
fast!” exclaimed Polly. 

She then sounded the burrow very care- 
fully with her straw for fear of hurting 
the spider. The nest was nearly a foot 
deep — she had found a rare specimen! 
Polly began to dig furiously and kept 
on with undiminished vigor until the nest 
stood like a miniature Bunker’s Hill 
monument in the excavation. When she 
thought she had gone deep enough she 
tugged at the monument with both hands 
until it broke off squarely at the base 
just below the clay stopper with which 
the spider seals the end of its burrow. 
There it was, intact! But when Polly 


26 An Insect Cave-Dweller 

attempted to lift the great clod of earth, 
it was so heavy that, without warning, 
it fell from her hands, and to her dis- 
may broke apart, tearing through the 
nest. It was a “misty, moisty Day,” as 
Polly’s father would have said, that stood 
over the ruins of her beloved specimen. 
She shook the nest free from the earth 
until it lay on the ground like a long, 
empty, torn silk purse. The spider must 
have escaped! But suddenly, under her 
prodding, the lower end of the nest 
puffed up as if inflated. 

“He’s there all right!” she cried, for- 
getting in her excitement to be afraid, 
and spreading her handkerchief, she 
dumped into it the remnants of the nest, 
spider and all, and shouldering her tools 
went down the hill triumphant. She 
made straight for the break in the hedge, 
and met Delia just as she was coming 
through. 

“I’ll tell you what we can do,” Delia 
said when she had heard Polly’s thrilling 


An Insect Cave-Dweller 27 

story of the capture. “We’ll get a deep 
flower pot, All it with earth, and let him 
build another nest. Then we can see 
just how he does it.” 

The girls found the very thing they 
were in search of, packed it tightly with 
dry, clay-like soil, and extricating the 
spider from the ruins of his home, placed 
him on top of the new ground, where he 
could build at his leisure. 

“He’s awful to look at,” said Polly, 
shuddering, as the spider reared up on its 
hind pair of legs, ready to strike. 

“It’s a jim-dandy!” said Delia, enthusi- 
astically. “Just a bunch of legs.” 

The spider was, indeed, an ugly look- 
ing fellow, black and shiny, and, when 
his legs were spread, large enough to 
cover a silver dollar. One could well be- 
lieve that his bite is venomous. The 
girls covered the top of the pot with a 
piece of mosquito netting, tying it down 
securely. 

It was time then for Delia to go to 


28 An Insect Cave-Dweller 

school, and all day long, off and on, 
Polly watched the spider, hoping to see 
him at work. But he did not stir from 
the spot where he had been placed and 
Polly was afraid that he had been hurt 
in the capture. The following morning 
Polly visited her spider early. He had 
disappeared and Polly quickly took off 
the netting. She gave her call, and 
Delia came with a bound through the 
hedge. 

“Look,” said Polly, in a whisper, “he’s 
dug a hole and shut himself in with a 
new trap-door.” 

Polly was right. The spot where the 
spider had disappeared had a semi-circu- 
lar cover of finely worked earth, with an 
edge of silvery cobweb. The door was 
so soft that it looked as if a touch would 
destroy it. The spider had deposited the 
earth he had dug out of the nest in little 
heaps along the edge of the pot out of 
his way. He had begun the construc- 
tion of his house with the trap-door, and 


An Insect Cave-Dweller 29 

slamming it in the face of the intruder, 
was working below in darkness and 
secrecy. 

As the spider works chiefly at night 
the girls could never catch him at his 
labors, but each day there was some fresh 
proof of the little mason’s activity. 
Stones as big as the spider’s body had 
been upheaved from the interior of the 
nest and shoved out of the way, and in 
three or four days the new trap-door 
looked quite like an old one. Whenever 
the girls tried to raise the door on its 
silken hinges they were met by a stub- 
born resistance from within. They 
learned that the spider holds the door 
down by clutching it flrmly with the 
mandibles and the flrst two pairs of feet, 
while the third and fourth pairs are 
pressed against the walls of the tube. 

Delia came to school with more to say 
about the trap-door spider and its habits 
than any other pupil. When the P. 
G.’s got past trap-door spiders she and 


30 An Insect Cave-Dweller 

Polly hunted up the spot on the hillside 
where Polly had so laboriously dug out 
her beautiful specimen, and carefully 
breaking away the pot they deposited the 
spider, earth and all, in its ancient home, 
where, if it were left undisturbed, it 
might live for many long years. The 
girls visited the spot from time to time, 
and the trap-door soon took on a moss- 
grown, comfortable look. When they 
tried to open the door they found that it 
was bolted and double-barred, and to 
have forced an entrance would have meant 
the destruction of the house. 


CHAPTER III 


THE JUNGLE 

W HETHER it was becausc of the 
dense foliage of the trees, the 
tangle of climbing roses, geraniums, and 
grape vines, the general air of inaccessi- 
bility, or because of the various animals 
domiciled on the place, the Scott ranch 
was known far and near as the Jungle. 
Besides chickens, ducks, pigeons, a pea- 
cock, a pair of beautiful wolf-hounds, 
Turkey numbered among his “critters” 
a gopher-snake, an alligator, a monkey, 
a parrot, and a wild-cat called Griff. 
Griff had tramped a path as hard as a 
garden-walk on the extreme outer edge 
of a wide circle, the center of which was 
the stake to which his chain was attached. 
He was a big, full grown cat, standing 
high on his legs, with a tail that looked 
as if it had been chopped off short, and 

31 


32 The Jungle 

an expression in his big yellow eyes that 
warned one to keep at a safe distance. 
In fact, the only one who dared to ap- 
proach the animal was Turkey. When- 
ever Griff heard Turkey’s voice he 
stopped his restless pacing, and when the 
boy came up purred hke an amiable 
house-cat, rubbing his yellow sides, with 
the greatest friendhness, against his 
young master. 

Since Mr. Scott’s death, some years 
ago now, Mrs. Scott and her children 
had lived alone on the Jungle and were 
almost entirely dependent upon the prod- 
ucts of the ranch. At an early age, the 
children were made to feel a fine sense 
of responsibility toward the beautiful old 
place. Mrs. Scott took them into her 
confidence, her bank-book was open to 
them, and the good of one was the good 
of all. Terence, more familiarly “ Tur- 
key” and “Terry” and again, “Terrible,” 
was gardener; Delia raised chickens, both 
children selling their products for the 


33 


The Jungle 

common good, and no happier boy and 
girl lived in all California than Terence 
and Delia Scott. 

Ever since he was a little chap, 
Turkey’s great ambition was to go to col- 
lege. His father had been a college man 
and the boy wished to be hke his father. 
‘Tf you go, my son, you will have to earn 
the money,” the mother said. “You 
know just what we have.” 

His first money-making project was 
worthy of the boy’s ingenuity. He had 
a tame chicken, a beautiful barred Ply- 
mouth Rock. Turkey called him Uncle 
Sam in honor of his country. The boy 
made a small seat that set over the back 
wheel of his bicycle. On this Uncle Sam 
was mounted, sitting down comfortably 
when the wheel was going, and standing 
up majestically when the wheel came to 
a stop. Turkey would ride at full speed 
along the streets, the chicken crouching 
behind him, and wherever there was a 
prospect of a paying “house” he would 


34 The Jungle 

dismount and put Uncle Sam through 
his stunts, the most fetching of which was 
what the boy was pleased to call “bare- 
back riding/' The chicken would jump 
from the wheel to the ground and again 
from the ground to the wheel in ludicrous 
imitation of a circus-rider, while Turkey, 
in the capacity of ringmaster, cracked his 
long whip and urged on the bird with 
truly dramatic effect. So good-natured 
was the boy, so merry his smile, that no 
one could resist the appeal of the cap 
when it was passed round. 

When he got older, he found more 
dignified means of earning his way to col- 
lege. In the long vacation, the big, 
stalwart boy was in great demand in the 
fruit orchards and made money. The 
picking began with apricots, peaches, 
prunes, grapes, olives, almonds, and Eng- 
lish walnuts following in turn. At the 
Christmas and Easter holidays Turkey 
would be found in the packing houses. 


35 


The Jungle 

packing oranges and lemons with record- 
breaking rapidity. 

Not only did Turkey learn how to make 
money early but how to share it. Mrs. 
Scott remembered the words of New- 
man: 

“What we have hardly won we are un- 
willing to part with, so that a man who 
has himself made his wealth will com- 
monly be penurious, or, at least, will 
not part with it except in exchange for 
what will reflect credit on himself or in- 
crease his importance.” 

To save Terence from the perils of 
avariciousness the mother taught her boy 
to set aside a certain proportion of his 
earnings for the poor. 

“You are earning not only for your- 
self, but for some one less fortunate,” the 
mother said. “It is a great privilege, my 
son.” 

So Turkey had always some pet 
charity on hand. J ust now it was his am- 


36 


The Jungle 

bition to get a pair of braces for a little 
cripple who lived in the neighborhood. 
Far from showing a spirit of greed the boy 
was so generous that often it was with 
difficulty that Mrs. Scott restrained him 
from “borrowing from himself,” as he 
expressed it, when the case particularly 
appealed to his ever-ready sympathy. 

But a boy with so much energy must 
occasionally break out in the wrong place, 
and so it was with Terence. He dearly 
loved a practical joke, and some of the 
pranks he played at school were so dar- 
ing that they had found their way into 
the local papers, although thus far his 
name had escaped publicity. It was gen- 
erally regarded as a pretty sure thing 
that it was he who had taken the skylight 
off the assembly hall at the High School, 
where he was a freshman, and let the 
physiology skeleton down from the top 
where it dangled in mid-air in a highly 
conspicuous manner until it was removed. 
It was suspected, but never proved, that 


37 


The Jungle^ 

it was the same boy who had stacked up 
in the assembly hall the school-books 
abstracted from a dozen different school- 
rooms. And it was, furthermore, an 
open secret that it was Terence Scott, 
known to be somewhat of an electrician, 
who had interchanged all the wires in 
school, so that no two bells rang at the 
same time, and at all times some bell was 
ringing out an unexpected summons, 
while one particularly clamorous bell was 
found permanently attached to the bat- 
tery where it kept on ringing until the 
battery gave out. 

But Terence was a good student and 
so well liked by his teachers and school- 
mates that no one cared to put the respon- 
sibility of the various performances that 
were enacted from time to time upon the 
real culprit; and thus far, thanks to un- 
usual favor, Terence had escaped un- 
scotched. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE OSTRICH FARM 

^ ^ “|3apa, whatever is that yonder in 

XT the valley? It appears to me 
like a man on horseback; and there is an- 
other, and a third,” he added; “and now 
they are in full gallop. Can they really 
be the Arabs of the desert?” 

“No, certainly not,” I replied with a 
laugh; “but take my telescope, and tell 
me what you can make of this wonderful 
sight.” 

“It is stranger than ever, papa,” said 
the boy. “The moving objects look like 
herds of cattle, high-loaded wagons or 
wandering haystacks. Ha, ha! What 
can it all be?” 

Smss Family Robinson, 

Polly liked nothing better than to go to 
the J ungle. It was not like any place she 

38 


The Ostrich Farm 


39 


had ever seen before. The floor ‘of the 
wide, bricked veranda was covered with 
bright Navajo rugs, and the orange or- 
chard came up almost to the veranda. So 
regular were the rows of trees that, which- 
ever way you looked, they seemed to 
wheel into position like a cavalry forma- 
tion, always facing you, and you were al- 
lowed to pick the very biggest, juiciest 
navel orange that you could find! The 
parrot, tethered to a long steel chain, 
dropped down from his perch whenever 
he heard a footstep on the veranda, and 
laboriously toiled across the floor in search 
of a possible biscuit. 

Polly did not mind the parrot, but 
Choppy, the monkey, was not at all to 
her liking. Choppy was as full of tricks 
as his master. Turkey had taught his 
monkey to disappear in the branches of 
the pine tree where he was generally tied, 
and at a signal to drop down upon who- 
ever happened to be standing below. It 
always took some time before the victim 


40 


The Ostrich Farm 


of the joke could see how funny it was, 
and, in the meantime, Turkey and his 
monkey had wisely disappeared. No, de- 
cidedly, Polly did not hke Choppy! 

It was Washington’s Birthday, a long 
holiday for Delia and Terence. Polly 
had gone over to the Jungle early, and 
the three children had distributed them- 
selves comfortably on the old veranda, 
which meant that they were down on the 
floor on the Navajo rugs. Delia, who 
read very well, was reading aloud Swiss 
Family Robinson, Turkey mounted but- 
terflies and beetles to catch up with his 
P.G. work, and Polly ground rose-petals 
through a chopper to make herself a string 
of beads, and perhaps a rosary out of the 
sweet-smelling pulp. Delia had come to 
the chapter on ostriches where “Jack” 
tames a wild ostrich and uses him as a 
riding-horse. 

“An ostrich can never be broken,” 
Turkey said, with all the decisiveness of a 


The Ostrich Farm 


41 


“P. G.” “They may show him in har- 
ness and all that, but it’s only faked up. 
He isn’t made to carry a load on his back. 
He can’t carry any weight more than a 
few minutes at a time.” 

“What about feather-weights?” said 
Delia, slyly. 

Turkey looked scornful. “Did you 
ever see a live ostrich, Polly?” he asked 
suddenly. 

No, Polly hadn’t. 

“All right. What do you say to our 
all going to the ostrich farm this after- 
noon?” 

“If Delia would care to go I should like 
nothing better,” said Polly. 

Deha was only too glad, and, taking 
their luncheon, the children set off to see 
the largest birds in existence. There were 
nearly five hundred ostriches on exhibi- 
tion at the farm, the greater number of 
which were herded in a general pen. 
Here they stalked up and down with 


42 


The Ostrich Farm 


haughty heads and drooped eyelids, each 
with an air of carrying a chip on his shoul- 
der. 

“They stay in this pen till they grow 
up,” said Turkey. 

“Grow up!” exclaimed Polly, looking 
at the gigantic birds. “How much far- 
ther can they go?” 

“Oh, all the way to between eight and 
nine feet, and they do it at the rate of a 
foot a month for the first seven months 
of their lives. Why, a new-born chick is 
as large as a full grown duck, and weighs 
three pounds. One ostrich egg will make 
an omelette as big as two dozen of our 
hens’ eggs, and just as good. Come, let’s 
follow the guide.” 

“The ostrich is a bad-tempered bird,” 
the guide was saying, “and so treacherous 
that it is never safe to approach him off 
your guard. If he is mad he will not 
hesitate to attack his keeper — ^in fact, he 
has so little brains that he doesn’t know 
his keeper from anybody else. If you 


The Ostrich Farm 


48 


will look at his small, flat head you will 
see the reason why. There isn’t any room 
for brains. He’s so stupid that, although 
he can jump five or six feet in the air, he 
hasn’t sense enough to clear his fence. 
But stupid as he is, it is not true that he 
hides his head in the sand, imagining that 
his pursuer can’t see him. Nor does the 
ostrich leave its eggs on the ground to be 
hatched in the sun. Twice a day, morn- 
ing and evening, the nest is left uncovered 
for a quarter of an hour to allow the eggs 
to cool. But otherwise the eggs are cov- 
ered forty days and nights. 

“You will see that the foot of the os- 
trich consists of two powerful toes. This 
heavy mailed claw is his chief means of 
defense. He kicks forward with a down- 
ward scratching movement, and it is only 
from a height of three feet that he can 
kick dangerously. It is for this reason 
that, although he has been known to 
charge a horse he will run away from a lit- 
tle dog. 


44 


The Ostrich Farm 


“The average life of an ostrich is from 
forty to fifty years; but they have been 
known to live to be a hundred. They take 
their mates for life. As soon as mated 
the couple go to housekeeping by them- 
selves, and put out their own door-plate.” 

The guide stopped before a large pen 
where, on a sign, was painted in white 
letters, “George and Martha Washing- 
ton.” 

“This couple have just celebrated their 
golden wedding. They have had fifty 
years of married bliss, and are good for as 
many more. And here’s President and 
Mrs. Taft. Watch the President smile!” 
The guide threw him an orange and as the 
bird opened his wide mouth it looked as if 
the top of his head would fall off like a 
lid. 

“This big bird, weighing over three 
hundred pounds, and over eight feet in 
height, is Emperor William. Look out 
for Billy — ^he’s dangerous! And here we 
have General Grant and his second wife. 


The Ostrich Farm 


45 


General Grant killed his first mate be- 
cause she would not do her part toward 
hatching the eggs. Ostriches share the 
duties of brooding between them, going 
on and off the eggs at fixed intervals. 
The male bird takes his place at four 
o’clock in the afternoon, and sits through 
the night. This is a surviving instinct of 
the desert, his plumage, being darker than 
the female’s, making him less conspicuous 
to the skulking foe. At eight in the 
morning the hen relieves her mate. Well, 
General Grant was very fair to Mrs. 
Grant and not only took the long end of 
the job, but gave her an hour for lunch 
besides. But Mrs. Grant didn’t want to 
be bothered with family cares — I guess 
she was a suffragette — and one day re- 
fused to sit at all. The General stood it 
till he was tired of it and then must have 
fought it out with her, for one morning 
she was found dead in the pen with a big 
hole in her breast. The General then 
went on the nest himself and there he sat 


46 


The Ostrich Farm 


day and night till the time was up when 
the happy father presented his family of 
fifteen healthy chicks to the farm. But 
he was so thin and weak he could hardly 
stand on his little old legs. He was put 
in the mating-pen again, and you can 
wager the second Mrs. Grant hasn’t any 
new-fangled notions, but is just the good 
old kind!” 

The guide then gave the General an 
orange. He swallowed it whole at a 
gulp; and the guide followed it by half a 
dozen more. . The oranges, one after an- 
other, corkscrewed down the whole length 
of the gigantic neck, the big lump appear- 
ing first on one side and then the other, 
to everybody’s amusement. The guide 
then scattered some corn upon the broad 
back of the second Mrs. Grant and while 
she picked up the grains with the utmost 
unconcern called attention to the fact that 
she could do up her own shirt-waist! 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the ostrich 
is very fond of any glittering object. He 


The Ostrich Farm 


47 


will help himself to your scarf pins, ear- 
rings, or any bright thing that catches his 
eye. If you are smoking a pipe, he may 
snatch it out of your mouth, mistaking it 
for a ‘sparkler,’ and swallow it without 
turning a feather.” 

There was a general shrinking back 
from the pen. The guide then asked if 
any one would like to ride. Turkey 
stepped forward. 

“Now, youngster, you’ve got to look 
out for yourself. Remember an ostrich 
kicks forward, and keep out of his way.” 

The guide jumped into the pen, caught 
one of the less belligerent ostriches, and 
held her firmly while Turkey got on from 
the mounting-block. 

Holding on to the wings of his mount, 
Turkey jolted along for a few paces, the 
guide keeping back the other ostriches 
with a heavy stick. 

“Look out for Sultan!” some one cried 
from outside the bars. A big bird sud- 
denly broke through the herd and made 


48 


The Ostrich Farm 


at Turkey with open beak and out- 
stretched neck, hissing viciously. The 
guide, keeping well out of the reach of the 
hoof-like toe, sprang to the boy’s rescue, 
beating off Sultan with vigorous blows 
while Turkey, urging on his ostrich, rode 
up to the block where he was glad to dis- 
mount. 

“That was a close call,” said the guide. 

There was a roar from the herding pen 
and then another; and soon all over the 
farm the ostriches were answering one an- 
other, the heavy booming sound, which in 
Africa is called “brooming,” resembling 
the roar of the lion. 


CHAPTER V 


’MISS FISHY 



Ihe children had their luncheon in a 


JL shady spot of the dell, where they 
could watch the various antics of the 
clumsy birds. When they had finished 
Polly said, with her innate love of adven- 


ture 


“Let’s go see ‘Emperor William’ 
again !” 

Over the pen of the gigantic bird was 
painted in large white letters “Danger- 
ous.” A nice old lady sauntered by as 
the children stood before the pen. “My 
— the ‘Dan-groose’ !” she said. “Why, I 
thought it was an ostrich. May be it’s a 
different species.” 

The children turned away so that the 
good old soul should not see that they were 
laughing. 

Polly was frankly interested in the 


49 


50 


''Miss Fishy'' 


“Emperor/’ He had a splendid coat of 
black curly feathers, and his wing feathers 
were beautiful white plumes which, when 
raised, hung like a heavy soft fringe all 
around his body. His shins and beak 
were a coral red; and altogether “Billy” 
was an unusually fine specimen of the 
Nubian ostrich. The guide was allowing 
Delia, at the moment, to feed an ostrich 
from her hand, and the big little girl was 
very proud of the distinction. But Polly 
had eyes only for “Billy” and, forgetting 
the warning sign, came closer and closer, 
as if fascinated, to the bars of the pen. 
Suddenly the big fiat beak shot out ; Polly 
felt a violent tug at her hat which, the 
next second, was dragged off her head, 
irrespective of hat pins, and trampled un- 
der the heavy mailed foot. With a sensa- 
tion of being half-scalped, Polly shrieked, 
pressing her two hands to her head. In- 
stantly a crowd gathered, but the “Em- 
peror” was only hungry, not vicious, and 
tearing the rhinestone buckle from its 


^"Miss Fishy'' 


51 


superfluous lace and ribbons, swallowed 
it with apparent relish, and while the 
buckle gyrated prominently down the long 
neck looked round for more such appe- 
tizers. 

To Polly’s unspeakable indignation the 
crowd burst into a roar of laughter. But 
Turkey, always quick to act, jumped into 
the pen, and flghting off the big fellow 
with a club he had snatched from a 
near-by guide, rescued what was left of 
Polly’s headgear. As a hat, however, it 
was utterly beyond recognition, and much 
to Polly’s discomfiture, she had to go bare- 
headed. Deha, with ready sympathy, 
pulled off her own hat and went bare- 
headed, too. Polly quickly recovered her- 
self, for she was too well-bred to allow 
the incident to spoil the day for her two 
friends, and when they were going home 
the manager of the farm gave Polly a 
beautifully decorated ostrich egg with an 
ostrich painted on one side and a nest of 
eggs on the other to make up for the loss 


52 


"'Miss FisTiy^' 


of her hat. The manager knew the in- 
cident would get into the daily papers, 
and it was a graceful and ingenious way 
of securing a bit of free advertising. 

When they got home the Scott chil- 
dren, as a fitting ending to the holiday, 
were asked to have supper with Polly, 
Mrs. Scott coming over, too. The di- 
ning-room was decorated with flags and 
pennants, and on the table were red, 
white, and blue flowers, and at each plate 
was a bon-bon box in shape of the his- 
toric hatchet with a bimch of candied 
cherries on top. 

The great incident of the day was, of 
course, the hat episode, and so modest was 
Turkey of his share in the adventure that 
Polly held undisputed the role of chief 
actor. She was not slow to make the 
most of it, and before long, quite forgot 
that she was only a “guest” in the house, 
and was trying to run things generally. 
Buddy, with Jane behind his chair, had 
been allowed to come to table, and, much 


''Miss Fishy^^ 


53 


to J ane’s annoyance, Polly spread the lit- 
tle boy’s bread, poured his milk, and said 
what he should have and what he should 
not have. “Pollykins!” the mother said, 
from time to time, in a tone of gentle re- 
monstrance. 

Yuen brought on the dessert with tre- 
mendous effect. It was a towering 
whipped cream meringue, decorated with 
the national colors in honor of the day. 
The “boy” was immensely gratified at the 
enthusiasm with which his patriotic offer- 
ing was received, but Mrs. Day looked 
askance at the meringue. The white she 
knew was whipped cream, the red might 
be the juice of cranberries, but where on 
earth did the blue come from? To her 
motherly eyes the blue looked nothing 
short of deadly. 

Yuen was a good cook, but when his 
imagination was aroused it was quite im- 
possible to tell to what lengths he might 
go. Some of the dishes he served were 
wonderful to see, but somehow one felt 


54 


"'Miss Fishy'* 

as if a pure food guarantee should accom- 
pany them. The Chinaman was very 
sensitive, and unless his special dishes 
were received with due appreciation he 
did not hesitate to show that his feelings 
were hurt. This meant nothing short of 
a domestic catastrophe, and to save the 
situation, Mrs. Day said, with her usual 
tact, after cutting the meringue: 

“Now, children, what do you say to tak- 
ing our dessert into the redwood room 
before the log fire?” 

There was an outburst of cheers, and 
each got up from the table bearing on a 
dainty plate a gorgeous slice of the na- 
tional colors, five inches deep. Mrs. Day 
explained her object, promising them their 
dessert later. She then stirred up the 
logs, and when the flames had died to 
coals each one dropped his slice delicately 
into the fire — and Yuen Wong’s feelings 
were spared! 

“Now I am going to give you a con- 
cert,” said Polly, jumping up. She 


"'Miss Fishy'^ 


55 


wound up the phonograph and put a rec- 
ord on the machine. Terence got up, too, 
and courteously offered his assistance. 

‘‘Oh, please sit down!” Polly said. “I 
am quite used to doing this myself.” 

There was a touch of patronage in her 
tone, and Turkey looked uncomfortable. 
While the phonograph was playing 
“Shepherd’s Dance” Polly left the room, 
presently returning with the big hghted 
hbrary lamp which she carefully set where 
she could have a good light on the rec- 
ords. Mrs. Day watched the perform- 
ance with nervous anxiety. 

“Now, Miss Fishy,” she said, “will you 
kindly ask Yuen to come for the lamp 
and take it back where it belongs? We 
have plenty of light.” 

There was something in her mother’s 
tone that called for instant obedience, and 
very crestfallen, Polly did as she was 
told. 

“Miss Fishy is such a funny name,” 
said Delia. “Where did you get it?” 


56 


''Miss Fishy'^ 


Polly sat down quickly beside Delia 
and said in an anxious whisper: 

“That’s mother’s name for me. No 
one ever calls me that but mother — not 
even Daddy or the boys. It’s our secret.” 

The truth was that “Miss Fishy” was 
short for “Miss Officious.” Whenever 
Polly was making herself unpleasantly 
conspicuous, it was by pronouncing the 
hated name that Mrs. Day gave her little 
daughter timely warning of impending 
disaster. Polly did not need a second 
hint — she knew too well from experience 
that it meant some awful blow to her 
pride, and the mere thought of being dis- 
graced before the Jungle people was 
enough to put the child at once on her 
good behavior. 

Turkey then gave the concert, Polly 
making herself his willing assistant. 

“Mother,” the little girl said, in a whis- 
per, “do look at Mrs. Scott! Isn’t she 
beautiful! Just like Delia grown up!” 

Mrs. Scott was sitting in the firehght, 


''Miss Fishy^^ 


57 


her lovely dark hair in heavy waves, her 
deep eyes full of peace. Polly was right 
— Mrs. Scott was beautiful — she looked 
like the mother of the world! 

Then Mrs. Day brought in the prom- 
ised dessert, which, to the children’s de- 
light, was popcorn to be popped over the 
log fire! Delia was asked to pop the 
corn, and Jane, with Buddy looking on, 
was allowed to pour the hot maple syrup 
over the swelling snowy heap. Every- 
body was busy doing something, and 
everybody was laughing and talking at 
the same time, while Polly fluttered about 
in her white frock and floating ribbons 
like the dear little girl that she was, and 
not like a make-believe young lady. 

When it was time to go Turkey said, 
in his big, manly way: 

“WeVe had a fine time, Mrs. Day. 
It’s been great from start to finish!” 

‘T should say,” Delia chimed in grate- 
fully, shaking hands with Mrs. Day like a 
boy and making the good lady wince. 


58 "'Miss Fishy"" 

“I’d like all my days to be Polly 
days!” 

Everyone laughed, but Delia did not 
look as if she had said anything unusual. 

When Polly knelt at her mother’s side 
that night she was an unusually long time 
making her examination of conscience, 
which, as was her practice, she did si- 
lently. 

“Mother,” she said, after her act of 
contrition, in a clear earnest voice, “I am 
never going to be Miss Fishy again. I 
want to be like Delia Scott — she’s always 
so gentle and kind, so careful of people’s 
feelings. And she’ll do anything for 
you!” 

Then Polly, getting into her mother’s 
lap, told how Delia had gone bareheaded 
at the ostrich farm. “Nobody would 
have thought of that but Delia!” said 
Polly. “And, mother dear, I’m going 
halves with Delia in my ostrich egg. As 
long as I am here it will be mine, and 
when I go away it shall be Delia’s.” 


CHAPTER VI 


“terrible” 

T urkey was industriously picking or- 
anges in the Jungle on Monday 
morning. His ladder rested against the 
heavy branches, and he dropped the or- 
anges, deftly cut from their stems with a 
pair of clippers, into the canvas bag slung 
from his shoulder and resting on his hip. 

“Why, Turkey, haven’t you any school 
to-day?” asked Polly, coming upon the 
boy unexpectedly. 

“I’m not going to-day,” he answered 
gruffly. The bag was full, and coming 
down the ladder, he unbuckled the bottom 
of the bag and poured its contents into 
a packing-box at the foot of the tree. 

“But, Turkey, I thought you never 
missed a day!” said Polly, persistently. 

“I’m not going to-day, anyway,” he 
said, climbing back among the branches. 

59 


60 ^^Terrible"" 

It was quite plain that he did not want 
to talk, and quite as plain, as Polly passed 
the pine tree, that Choppy did. 

“You’re foolish!” she said, looking up 
at the monkey, but making her remark at 
a safe distance. 

The next day Turkey was still picking 
oranges, but Polly contemplated him 
from afar. “Turkey is hateful,” she said, 
“and I’m not going near him.” When 
Delia came home from school Polly said: 

“I wish somebody would tell me why 
Turkey isn’t going to school. I know 
he’s not staying home just to pick or- 
anges.” 

“It’s no secret,” said Delia, sadly. 
“Turkey is suspended.” 

“Suspended ! Turkey !” 

“Yes. Some one turned the fire hose 
down the basement stairs of the High, 
and put four feet of water into the cellar. 
They think Turkey did it because he has 
played so many practical jokes. But he 
would never do anything like that. He’s 


^^Terrihle’^ 


61 


never mean — his jokes are only funny. 
It’s all in the paper. Wait, I’ll show 
you.” 

Delia ran into the house to get the 
paper, and the two girls read together a 
detailed account of the “Latest High 
School Prank.” The damage done was 
considerable. Plaster and walls were in- 
jured, and in addition to this, a number 
of new desks and chairs for school use 
that had lately been unpacked in the base- 
ment were badly damaged, if not ruined. 
The marauders were taken to task for 
showing so little school spirit as to 
wantonly injure the property of the 
school. The principal of the “High” was 
quoted as saying that, in all probability, 
the responsibility of the affair could be 
fixed upon the same boy who had hung 
the laboratory skeleton in the skylight, in- 
terchanged the wires of the electric bells, 
and stacked the school-books in the as- 
sembly hall. The principal said, further- 
more, that this latest affair was of too 


62 


^^Terrible’’ 


serious a nature to be tolerated — ^that it 
had transgressed all the ordinary school 
laws, and that the boy or boys responsible 
for the flooding of the cellar would prob- 
ably be dealt with severely if caught. 

Polly gasped. “It’s dreadful. What 
do you think they will do to Turkey?” 

“They’ve got to prove it first!” said 
Delia, indignantly. 

Turkey was angry. He felt that he 
had been unfairly treated. When he had 
denied all complicity in the affair his word 
had not been taken, and he had been in- 
definitely suspended by the Superintend- 
ent of Schools. Before the blow had 
fallen, Mr. Brion, the Physical Geogra- 
phy teacher, had had a talk with the boy. 
Now, Mr. Brion, in spite of the dignity of 
his position and the several initials that 
followed his name in the school prospec- 
tus, was not much more than an over- 
grown boy himself. He looked like a 
giant, had a strong, rugged face, and 
thick red hair, and when he was a univer- 


''Terrible 


65 


sity man had achieved an intercollegiate 
reputation as quarter-back. 

Terence Scott was a boy after his own 
heart. Moreover, Terence Scott was the 
strength of the football team, and if he 
should be expelled it would be a terrific 
loss to the “High.” 

“Terence,” Mr. Brion began, “the trick 
doesn’t look like one of yours, and I’m 
ready to believe you when you say you 
didn’t do it.” 

“You are right, sir. I didn’t do it. It 
was a stupid thing to do. Anybody can 
turn a hose into a cellar.” 

“I’m rather of the opinion, though, that 
you know who did it. Am I right 
again?” 

“If I should know, you wouldn’t ex- 
pect me to tell, Mr. Brion,” Terence said, 
quietly. 

“You know, then!” the teacher said, 
quickly. 

Terence frowned. 

“I’m not asking you to tell,” Mr. Brion 


64 


^^TerrihW^ 


continued. “But if I knew it would save 
me a lot of trouble, and you too, my boy.” 

The next day Terence was suspended. 
To show their loyalty, his classmates fol- 
lowed Turkey as much as possible into 
exile. The Jungle, out of school hours, 
was fairly infested with boys, and Ter- 
ence Scott was the hero of the moment. 

“If you know who did it, drop a hint, 
and I’ll see it’s found out without mixing 
you in it,” said Jack Van Wert, Turkey’s 
chum. 

“If they ask you, just tell them you 
don’t know. Van,” said Terence with a 
grin. 

The boy’s friends cropped up every- 
where. Old and young, rich and poor 
alike, all had a good word to say for him. 
One man, the owner of a fruit ranch, went 
to the principal and said: 

“I don’t beheve you know the kind of 
boy you are putting out of school. All 
summer long, year after year, Terence 
Scott has picked fruit for me. I have 


^^Terrible^^ 


65 


known him to pick his forty boxes of ap- 
ricots a day. He picks good honest 
boxes, and doesn’t hunt out the little ones. 
And it is the same with all the crops in 
turn. Terence can’t afford to lose his 
schooling, and you are losing a good boy.” 

‘T can’t help it,” said the principal. 
‘T am as sorry as anybody, for he is one 
of our best students, but I have to make 
an example of him. He has been court- 
ing trouble ever since he came into school, 
and he is only getting his deserts.” 

Turkey would have been less than hu- 
man not to have felt flattered by the at- 
tention he received on all hands, and 
perhaps for the moment he forgot what 
this shorthved glory was costing him. 
Toward the end of the week, however, the 
full force of the empty days came upon 
him. His future career was in question. 
He became so surly that the boys for- 
sook the Jungle. Delia and Polly kept 
out of his way, and Mrs. Day, after hav- 
ing had her invitations refused again and 


66 


^^Terrible^' 


again, no longer asked him to the house. 
The boy’s only friend was his mother, and 
she herself was afraid to show how much 
his friend she was. Turkey was indeed 
the “Terrible 1” 


CHAPTER VII 

THE ’gator man 


A SECOND week went by and still Ter- 
ence was not recalled. Polly went 
over to the Jungle early on Saturday 
morning. She fairly danced as she went 
along. 

“Delia,” she cried, “where’s Turkey? 
Mother wants us all to go to the alligator 
farm to-day!” 

“But Turkey’s gone. He’s been gone 
an hour. He didn’t say where he was go- 
ing, but he had on his corduroys and he 
had his spiked stick. I think he’s gone 
up the back mountains.” 

“Dear me, I’m sorry! Mother thought 
he would like it. But we can go any way, 
can’t we?” 

“I should say!” Delia replied, charac- 
teristically. 

The “alligator farm” was laid out on 

67 


68 


The ^Gator Man 


the banks of a small mountain stream, 
which in its course had formed a number 
of little lakes and ponds where the alli- 
gators lived in comfort and comparative 
freedom. Animals of the same size were 
kept together, the very young in one lake, 
those a little older in another, and so on 
according to age and strength. This has 
to be done because alligators are canni- 
bals and feed on one another. The an- 
imals ranged all the way from newly- 
hatched babies scarcely larger than a 
lizard to huge monsters twelve feet or 
more in length. These animals live long 
and grow slowly. Those of two feet in 
length are about ten years of age, while 
those of twelve or more feet may be up- 
wards of two hundred years old. 

The alligator is an ugly creature. He 
has a broad, flat muzzle and small wicked 
eyes that watch you unblinkingly. His 
great mouth extends beyond the ears and 
is full of sharp teeth of different sizes. 
When a tooth is shed or broken, a new 


The ^Gator Man 


69 


one comes up beneath the hollow base of 
the old one. Sometimes in the jaw of 
a dead alligator may be seen three or four 
of these waiting teeth, packed like a nest 
of thimbles. 

They are hunted in their native swamps 
for their skins and teeth, or for the pur- 
pose of the showman. Catching the un- 
wieldy creature alive is a dangerous un- 
dertaking, for he then changes from what 
looked like a drifting log into a thing of 
life, fierce and horrible. After the hunt- 
ers have “spotted” a den, the alligator is 
prodded with a long pole until, infuriated, 
the animal seizes it in his jaws. He then 
holds on with all the tenacity of a bull- 
dog, and in this manner is dragged up 
on shore, where he is securely bound with 
strong ropes. One snap of the powerful 
jaws is enough to crush a man’s leg, one 
blow of the great horny tail sufficient to 
sweep a man into the swamp. 

The hunt for skins is often carried on 
by night with the aid of a jack lamp. 


70 


The ^Gator Man 


The alligator’s eye, when “shined,” looks 
like a ball of red fire on the water. The 
hunter paddles noiselessly to within a few 
feet of the herd, where they lie stead- 
fastly watching the light as if fascinated. 
The heavily charged gun is fired, but be- 
fore the monsters sink the grapple-hook 
is used and they are dragged into the boat. 
Frequently thirty or forty are killed in 
one night. 

The nest of the alligator is made of 
sand and rubbish. The eggs look like 
goose eggs, only somewhat longer, and a 
“clutch” consists of from thirty to sixty 
eggs. The mother then scratches a layer 
of rubbish over the eggs, completely con- 
cealing them, and stands on guard until 
they are hatched by the heat of the sun. 
During this period she is very savage, at- 
tacking without hesitation anybody or 
anything that comes near her nest. 

Polly and Delia were hanging over the 
rail of a pond where there were hundreds 
of small, squirming, newly-hatched alii- 


The ^Gator Man 


71 


gators. In their clean, glossy, black or 
dark brown skins with orange-colored 
stripes, wriggbng tails and bodies, they 
were very attractive little creatures, and 
Polly was yearning to hold one in her 
hand. Suddenly they heard a well-known 
voice pitched in the sing-song tone of the 
practiced guide. 

“Get acquainted with Evangeline, the 
two-hundred-year-old alligator !” 

“That’s Turkey, as sure as you live!” 
said Delia. The girls hurried in the di- 
rection of the voice, and there, sure 
enough, was Terence, in his capacity of 
guide, standing in the pen of a monster 
alligator I 

He gave the girls an amused look as 
they came up, and then, in the same sing- 
song voice, went on: 

“Maybe, because she is almost tooth- 
less, you think she can’t do anything!” 

He jerked his cap toward the closed 
jaws, which instantly opened and came 
together like a steel trap, giving forth a 


72 


The 'Gator Man 


tremendous ringing noise due to the wide 
roof of the mouth that acted like a sound- 
ing board. 

“She could easily break a man’s leg 
with her toothless gums,” Turkey said. 
“There’s one hundred and fifty pounds 
pressure in those old jaws!” 

He dashed his cap at the angry jaws 
again, and Delia and Polly impulsively 
cried out together, “Don’t, Turkey!” 

Everybody turned to look at the 
two children, and Turkey laughed. He 
jumped over the fence of the enclosure 
and said, in a low tone: 

“The regular ’gator man is off, and 
I’m on the job. It’s a lot of fun, and 
I’m making a pot of money. Now don’t 
be a goose. Deha. I’m not taking any 
chances, and I’ve a big crowd to amuse.” 

Going back to the pen, Turkey forced 
Evangeline to open her mouth again to 
show that the great coral-pink throat was 
so arranged that the alligator can seize 
its prey and sink to the bottom of the 


The ^Gator Man 


7a 

water without danger of suffocation, al- 
though the jaws be widely stretched. 
This arrangement is a sort of collar or 
trap-door at the base of the tongue — and 
as( the alligator drowns its prey before 
eating, it is an important provision of 
nature. 

It was amazing the wealth of unpre- 
meditated information Turkey poured 
out, and if at any time he was challenged, 
he had such a ready answer that it was 
like the gentle answer that turneth away 
wrath. Soon the crowd was following 
Terence as part of the show, and every- 
body was amused. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE ’gATOK man (CONTINUED) 

I N one part of the alligator farm was a 
low-walled enclosure, where all kinds 
of unpleasant creatures, such as snakes, 
Gila monsters, iguanas, lizards, horned 
toads, and the like, were congregated. 
Armed with his spiked stick Turkey 
vaulted unconcernedly over the wall and 
picked up a gopher-snake longer by some 
feet than the boy himself. Letting the 
snake swing from his bare, outstretched 
arm by the last coil of its tail, Turkey 
said: 

“He’s got the muscle! You see he’s 
hanging from my arm by the tip of his 
tail, just as you would hang from a hori- 
zontal bar by your chin.” Then disen- 
gaging the snake, the boy said, in an easy, 
conversational tone: 

“We used to have a boa constrictor all 

74 


The ^Gator Man 


75 


of twenty feet long; and as big round as 
a man’s thigh, but he got away last winter 
just about the time one of the steampipes 
in the new courthouse sprang a leak. 
The tinker came in with his tools and was 
given the key to the basement. In ten 
minutes he was upstairs again, hat off, 
hair on end! He said he had gone down 
with his monkey wrench and things and 
found the pipe. T set down on the pipe 
a minute while I was getting ready,’ he 
said, ‘and all of a sudden it seemed to me 
like the darned thing slipped from under 
me like a streak o’ greased lightning, and 
I fell over backwards.’ And he said he 
guessed he wouldn’t fix that pipe till the 
next day. The tinker doesn’t know yet 
that it was our little old boa constrictor!” 

The manager, who was watching his 
new “ ’gator man” from the circle of 
spectators smiled, and he and Turkey ex- 
changed glances. 

“You’re all right!” he said, loud enough 
for the boy to hear. 


76 


The ^Gator Man 


Turkey then stirred up the snakes, 
pointing out the coral-snake, the milk- 
snake (the last named has the reputation 
of milking a cow when it is hungry) , and 
the king-snake, “wearing all its engage- 
ment rings,” as Terence called the black 
and red stripes that ring its body. The 
“rattlers” were in a separate cage, but 
Turkey prodded them with his pointed 
stick till the air was a-whirr with their 
rattling. He picked up the horned igu- 
ana, green and venomous-looking, and 
obligingly posed it on the wall of the en- 
closure for the young woman with a 
kodak, and in fact proved himself a 
prince of showmen. 

The hospital was an enclosure for dis- 
abled alligators. Now, as everybody 
knows, Turkey was a kind-hearted boy, 
but nevertheless it must be admitted there 
was a note of keen enjoyment as he ex- 
hibited the infirmities and physical short- 
comings of the unfortunate saurians. 

“This olc^fellow with the permanently 


The "Gator Man 


77 


dislocated jaw tore up a lot of our ’gators 
till Big Joe, the veteran of the farm, 
nearly five hundred years old, got back at 
Rastus and broke his jaw,” Turkey said. 
‘‘Benny got that big hole in his snout 
when he was hooked on shore down in the 
swamps of Louisiana. Mabel is minus 
a paw because she and Roxana couldn’t 
get along; but before she let go she gave 
Roxana a bite that’s left her string-halted 
in the left leg for life. Horatius-at-the- 
Bridge acquired his three-cornered gait 
by getting into a quarrel with his maternal 
uncle. We have a choice assortment of 
cripples here, as you can see, but don’t 
break your hearts over them. They’re 
not sensitive to pain and don’t know they 
are hurt till they are knocked out.” 

The next thing on the programme was 
feeding some of the breeding stock. The 
compound being enclosed in wire netting, 
and the creatures having a large area of 
the banks on which to bask in the sun- 
shine, a good view of the feast could be 


78 


The "Gator Man 


had. The alligator is a scavenger and 
preferably likes his meat “high.” His 
fare consists for the most part of waste 
meat sent to the farm from the great 
packing yards, and chickens, ducks, and 
pigeons that are killed before being 
thrown to him. 

Turkey threw large pieces of meat into 
the pool, which the alhgators dragged un- 
der water. 

“This is ‘dog’!” Turkey said, holding 
aloft a large piece of meat. “Watch Plu- 
tarch fight for it.” 

Plutarch fastened his teeth in the meat, 
while Terence held fast to the other end. 
Then followed a strange performance. 
With the grip of a bulldog, the alligator 
held on to the meat, turning over and 
over like a revolving cylinder, first its 
dark horny back uppermost and then its 
white underbody. The meat “gave” at 
last, and Plutarch made off with his 
booty. 

Then came the exhibition of trained 


The 'Gator Man 


79 


alligators “shooting the chutes.” The 
top of the structure, which is built on the 
edge of a pool, is gained by an inclined 
pathway ribbed at intervals with trans- 
verse pieces of wood. Breathing hard, 
snorting, shuffling along on their short 
clumsy paws, the alligators, one by one, 
more or less unwillingly toil up the steep 
ascent. When the top is reached the an- 
imal has no alternative but to slide down 
the opposite side, a drop of some thirty 
feet, into the water. This always raises 
a shout of amusement from the specta- 
tors. 

“That’s Josephine, the famous Em- 
press of the French! Watch her walk!” 
Terence said, as a remarkably awkward 
alligator plodded to the foot of the in- 
cline. “And here comes Napoleon!” he 
shouted, as a big saurian, its feet to- 
gether, came down the slide, willy nilly, 
and plunged into the water with a tre- 
mendous splash. “Here you have a 
living illustration of the fall of Napoleon. 


80 


The 'Gator Man 


That’s the way he dropped off the map 
of Europe!” 

The visitors to the farm then followed 
Terence to a pen where there were herded 
two or three hundred small alligators 
from six to eighteen months old, not any 
longer than a lizard. 

“Here, Gwendolen!” Turkey said, 
making a dive after one of them. “You, 
John Sullivan, keep out of the way!” 

“How do you know them apart?” one 
of the visitors said, admiringly. 

“Nothing easier!” he rattled off. 
“There’s Katherine of Aragon! See 
her look up when she hears her name! 
There’s the twins. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 
Hyde! Oh, you Gentleman Joe! And 
here’s Xenophon, Heliogabalus and 
Julius Csesar all in a bunch!” 

Turkey was enjoying the situation to 
the utmost. 

“Who wants to hold the Lily Maid of 
Astolat?” he asked, holding out a tiny 
’gator. 


The ^Gator Man 


81 


Turkey’s offer was not taken up with 
any enthusiasm till Delia and then Polly 
put out their hands. Terence gave the 
Lily Maid to Delia, and then fished out 
Sir Launcelot for Polly. The little crea- 
tures were so gentle, so harmless, their 
bodies so soft and warm — ^not in the least 
clammy as one might expect — that the 
two children laughed for joy, and soon 
everybody was asking to hold a baby 
’gator. 

After the incubators, where most of the 
eggs are hatched, had been visited, Tur- 
key, talking volubly all the time, courte- 
ously but determinedly, led the way to 
the gate marked Exit, and almost before 
it knew it, the crowd found itself on the 
outside of the farm, and Turkey was 
ready to begin with another audience. 

When Polly went home she said to her 
mother ; 

“Turkey and Delia do the most won- 
derful things, and act as if they weren’t 
doing anything. You just find out by 


82 


The ^Gator Man 


accident. And, mother, they don’t care 
a fig about clothes, yet they always seem 
to have on the right things. I wish I had 
a khaki suit like Delia’s, and mother, 
dear, may I have my hair cut short like 
hers?” 

“But, my child, your hair won’t look 
like Delia’s. Hers is curly — ^yours 
straight.” 

“I don’t care, mother. It would be 
out of the way, and I shouldn’t have to 
be brushed and combed every minute. 
Please, mother, dear!” 

Mrs. Day gave Polly her wish, al- 
though she groaned when she saw the 
beautiful, long, glossy hair fall before the 
shears. But the httle girl looked so 
pretty with her hair cut squarely at the 
neck in the Dutch fashion and a bow on 
top to keep the front locks out of her 
eyes, that Mrs. Day did nothing for a 
week but make studies of Polly in water 
colors and oils. 


The "Gator Man 


83 


When Turkey first saw Polly after her 
hair-cut he said: 

“Polly, you must have been bom in 
June.” 

“How did you guess?” said Polly 

“Why, ‘then, if ever, come perfect 
Days’!” 

“Well, I wasn’t born in June at all!” 
said Polly, triumphantly. “I was born 
on the worst day you ever saw, mother 
says; all sliddy and slidey, and snowy 
and sleety.” 

“I wonder if Choppy would recognize 
you,” said Turkey reflectively, feeling 
that his labored compliment was wasted. 
Polly started and looked up. She was 
just beneath the fatal tree. Squealing, 
with both hands over her cropped head, 
Polly ran to cover. 


CHAPTER IX 


NICK CARTER 

T urkey was busy digging a cellar 
under his tent-house behind the 
apricot-orchard. He threw out the earth 
in great shovelfuls, although it was al- 
ready piled higher than his head. When- 
ever Turkey had anything on his mind 
he generally got into a deep hole 
with a shovel. Not that he was digging 
to-day without purpose. It had always 
been a cherished scheme of his to build a 
cave under his tent-house, line it with 
cobblestones brought from the arroyo- 
seco, and close the door not only with 
lock and key but with bolt and bar. 
Here he meant to keep such treasures as 
toads, hzards, and snakes, living or dead; 
cyanide- jars where he could drop in a 
“specimen” without a howl of distress 
from Delia, and, above all things, his 

84 


Nick Carter 


85 


precious tools which, whenever he wanted 
them, were always missing. It was a 
good while since the foundations were 
struck, and a plentiful crop of weeds had 
sprung up. For months Turkey had had 
to climb into bed at night over a moun- 
tain of earth where his feet had tramped 
a trail, but his time had been so taken 
up with one thing and another that it was 
not until his enforced holiday that he had 
thought seriously of completing the work. 

It was over two weeks now since he 
had been suspended, and the boy had be- 
come increasingly gruff and unapproach- 
able. While he was digging, Nick 
Carter was making his way through the 
Jungle. The wild-cat snarled at him as 
the boy crossed his trail; Kubelik II., the 
Russian wolf-hound, bared his teeth; a 
mocking-bird swooped down upon him 
clamorously and brushed him with her 
wings. 

“What a sociable lot of critters you’ve 
got about!” Nick said, as he came up. 


86 


Nick Carter 


Turkey growled some unintelligible re- 
sponse and Carter watched the big shovel- 
fuls of earth fall. “ What are you 
digging? ” he asked, presently. 

“ What does it look like — potatoes, 
soft-shelled clams, or paste diamonds?” 

‘Tt looks like a cyclone cellar, I should 
say. Good thing to have on the place.” 
He laughed disagreeably. 

“Say, Turkey,” he went on with as- 
sumed carelessness, “you don’t mind my 
asking if you know who’s responsible for 
the flood at the High?” 

Turkey stopped digging and looked 
Carter squarely in the face. ' 

“Yes, I know,” he said, bluntly. 

“If you know, why don’t you tell?” 

Turkey snorted and struck his spade 
deep preparatory to a gigantic effort. 

“I mean it,” said Carter. “I’m sick 
of it.” 

“If you’re sick of it, you know what 
you can do,” Turkey said, curtly. 

“Do any of the other fellows know?” 


Nick Carter 


87 


“Nope.’’ 

Some of the shovelfuls were coming 
pretty close to where Carter was stand- 
ing. He took the hint and went off, 
Kubelik II. following him suspiciously. 
Just as Nick came under the pine tree 
a heavy body fell out of the tree, and 
clung tenaciously to the head and shoul- 
ders of the trespasser. He yelled at the 
top of his lungs, and Turkey, suspecting 
what had happened, came leisurely to the 
boy’s rescue. When Turkey went back 
to his cellar it was with the pleasantest 
look he had worn for some days. 

Late that afternoon, after school hours, 
Mr. Brion called at the Jungle. Turkey 
saw him coming and went out to meet 
him. After shaking hands, the boy and 
the schoolmaster seated themselves on the 
brick veranda. Although Mr. Brion 
looked very serious, Turkey felt a sense 
of relief that was almost elation. 

“Carter told me about it to-day,” be- 
gan Mr. Brion. “He isn’t such a bad 


88 


Nick Carter 


sort of chap, after all. It was because 
you were ‘game’ as he expressed it, and 
had acted ‘white’ that he confessed. He 
has to go, of course, and there will be a 
heavy bill for damages against his father. 
I’m sorry for Carter.” After a pause, 
Mr. Brion continued, looking at the boy 
gravely. 

“You have suffered, Terence, but it 
won’t hurt you. If you hadn’t been 
pulled up with a round turn your pranks 
might have turned into just such crim- 
inal offenses as this. You might not 
always have had some one to stand 
between you and well-deserved pun- 
ishment. The bolt would have fallen at 
last.” 

Terence looked uncomfortable. 

“I suppose you didn’t think it was fair 
that I should have allowed you to be put 
out of school when you knew that I knew 
you were not guilty. But it was the only 
way to discover the real culprit. It is a 
sort of sweat-box process — putting the 


Nick Carter 


89 


real offender through a moral third de- 
gree. You’ll rarely find a boy so mean- 
spirited that he will not own up in the 
end rather than see another boy, whom 
he knows to be innocent, take his punish- 
ment. Carter was no exception. You 
were chosen as the scapegoat because of 
your well-earned reputation. And, if I 
must say it, I am not sorry. You have 
had your lesson. It is true you are only 
fourteen, but you are as big and as strong 
as a man, and henceforth you must think 
manly thoughts and be governed by 
manly purpose. The boys look up to 
you as their leader. It is a great re- 
sponsibility. Try to hve up to it.” 

Mr. Brion got up to go. He wrung 
the boy’s hand, and Turkey stammered 
his thanks, and tried to say he would be 
different in future. Mr. Brion under- 
stood and shook hands with him again. 

Choppy chattered suggestively, and 
pulled on his chain as the teacher passed 
by, but, receiving no signal, he scratched 


90 


Nick Carter 


his head thoughtfully, and puckered his 
forehead into a few more wrinkles. 

Turkey went back the next day, and 
although little was said he was made 
to feel that he had won a new place in 
the estimation of his schoolmates. The 
whole story was in circulation and from 
the moment it was known that there was 
a boy at the “High” who would rather 
suffer unjust punishment than “to 
peach,” a new school spirit was born. 
Turkey had set a new ethical standard 
that would make itself permanently felt 
in class-room or playground. As for 
the boy he felt within himself the strange, 
uplifting power of a leader, and he de- 
termined that henceforth all his influence 
should be on the side of good and not of 
evil. 

Delia and Polly were talking it over, 
seated under a shady tree. The whole 
incident had appealed to Polly’s imagi- 
nation as few things had done in her short 
lifetime. 


Nick Carter 


91 


“Turkey was splendid!” she said. “I 
don’t know another boy in the world that 
would have acted as he did.” 

‘T don’t see how he could have done 
anything else,” said Delia, simply. “It 
would have been telling tales. Turkey 
has never told tales in his life!” 


CHAPTER X 


THE “corkscrew” 

I T was spring in California. Roses 
of every hue overran the land, cMmb- 
ing to the very chimney-tops, and pihng 
up, at every stopping place, a mass of 
bloom sometimes a foot deep. On hill- 
side and mesa poppies made a blaze of 
yellow. The almond tree was in bloom, 
and there were acres and acres of apricot 
and peach trees that looked as if another 
day would see them , in full flower. The 
bees were busy among the orange blos- 
soms, gathering pollen for their very best 
honey, and the birds sang not only all 
the livelong day, but all the livelong night. 

And then, one morning, all this pic- 
ture of bloom was thrown up against a 
background of dazzling whiteness. Snow 
had fallen on the mountains! The P. 
G.’s were in a state of wild excitement. 


The ''Corkscrew'^ 


93 


They had been promised a snowball fight 
at the first snowfall. To get to the re- 
gion of snow meant a long, hard climb 
up a good many perpendicular miles, but 
most of the class had made the trip be- 
fore, and a number of burros would be 
hired for those who wished to ride. 

Polly had been asked to go along, and 
looking like a small mountaineer in her 
khaki suit, felt hat, high elkskin boots and 
alpenstick, the little girl set out undaunt- 
edly with Delia and Turkey. 

To escape the heat of the day it was 
agreed that the class should meet at seven 
o’clock in the morning at the foot of the 
mountains where the trail began. Our 
little party with Mr. Brion were among 
the first to arrive, but before long the P. 
G.’s came trooping in until they num- 
bered between twenty and thirty girls and 
boys. The pack mules were loaded with 
lunch baskets and extra wraps, and those 
who wished to ride were mounted on 
sturdy burros, the “mountain canaries,” 


94 


The '"Corkscrew"^ 


of local parlance. The usual tardy ones 
had to be waited for, but at last the signal 
was given for the start, although several 
of the P. G.’s, who were contemptuously 
dubbed “quitters” were still missing. 
With a whoop the less experienced 
started up the trail at a bound, the “old 
timers” taking it more leisurely! 

Polly had rather disdainfully declined 
to be among the riders, and trudged 
along as if mountain-climbing was an 
every day occurrence to her, although, to 
tell the truth, the bare sight of the can- 
yons over the edge of the trail almost 
took her breath away. The troop of 
children stopped when they came to a 
ridge pathway between two gulches to roll 
down rocks and stones that did not stop 
till they reached the bottom, thousands of 
feet below. With her usual facility for 
making friends, Polly had already at- 
tracted a small following, and Delia and 
Turkey were quite envied that they 


The "'Corkscrew"* 


95 


should be on so friendly terms with the 
little girl from Back East. 

There was a distant tinkling of bells. 
“Look out, here come the pack mules!” 
cried one of the boys in the lead. Turkey 
explained to Polly that the regular train 
of pack mules coming down had some- 
times a playful little way of shoving off 
the trail any mules that might be coming 
up. As the regular train had the 
inside just at this particular spot it made 
it a bit uncomfortable for those coming 
up. There was a hurried dismounting 
among the more timid, but most of the 
P. G.’s clung to their animals and it was 
amusing to see the stolid way in which 
the up-going mules met the vicious push 
of the down-coming animals. Outside 
of the slipping of a hoof or so over the 
edge and the rattling of stones into the 
canyon, the trains passed each other in 
safety. 

At last they were coming to the snow 


96 


The ''Corkscrew'^ 


— ^just a powder at first that cooled the 
trail, and felt good to tired feet. Polly 
had the novel sensation of standing in 
snow and looking down on orange groves 
and grain fields. It was summer and 
winter in a single day. Some of the 
California P. G.’s had never been so close 
to snow before, and, scraping it up in 
handfuls, they examined the new element 
with wonder and delight. The snow was 
getting deeper. The evergreen trees 
were mounds of snow — ^the summits were 
wrapped in a mantle of white. But 
snow in this part of the world does not 
necessarily mean frigid weather, and 
there was just enough snap in the air to 
set the blood tingling. 

Laughing and shouting, the P. G.’s 
plunged ahead, making for a certain 
place where the trail widened into a safe 
plateau. Here would be the battlefield. 
But before they gained this point, they 
had to climb the “corkscrew,” a part of 
the route where the trail fairly stands 


The "'Corkscrew"^ 


97 


up on end, zigzagging back and forth 
across the face of the peak. Just as the 
foremost of the band came to the point 
where the trail makes the first turn on 
itself, they were greeted with wild shouts 
and a volley of snowballs, and the laugh- 
ing faces of the “quitters” looked trium- 
phantly at them over a huge barricade of 
snow. The attack was so fierce, ^so un- 
expected, that the assailed fell back at 
once. Moreover, just at this point, the 
wind had swept the trail clear of snow 
and they were without return ammunition. 

Mr. Brion gathered his squad together 
in the shelter of a great bowlder and 
talked over the situation. The enemy 
had chosen an impregnable position. 
One man could stand up there and un- 
armed push all the P. G.’s that ever 
existed over the precipice one by one as 
they came up the trail. It was a practi- 
cal illustration of what was done at 
the Pass of Thermopylae. One of the 
Juniors, recalling the story, stepped for a 


98 


The ''Corkscrew'^ 


perilous moment from behind the bowl- 
der and called out, in the historic words 
of the Persian king, “Surrender your 
arms 

“Come and take them!” was the ready 
response from behind the barricade, a 
shower of snowballs emphasizing the re- 
tort. There was a deep snowdrift be- 
hind the bowlder and while Mr. Brion and 
his suddenly commissioned officers were 
planning a strategic movement, the rest 
of the band were busy making snowballs. 
A fierce head-on onslaught would have 
been decided upon were it not that the 
trail at this point was so dangerously 
narrow, making the risk too great. The 
besieging party were shouting and jeer- 
ing — every head that appeared from be- 
hind the bowlder was used as a target — 
snowballs were breaking in all directions. 
Altogether it looked as if there were noth- 
ing for it but to break and run, but Mr. 
Brion, the commander-in-chief, hesitated 


99 


The ''Corkscrew'* 

before giving the signal for so inglorious a 
retreat. 

Suddenly there was a yell like an In- 
dian war-whoop from the heights. The 
snowballing from behind the barricade 
abruptly ceased. A storm of snowballs 
was falling upon the enemy from above, 
bursting into such clouds that, for a while, 
the attacking party could not be seen. 
Then over a shelf of rock, commanding 
the lower turn of the trail, behind a 
bulwark of snowballs, Turkey and Delia 
came into view. Unseen, the brother and 
sister had daringly left the path, scaled 
the face of the peak, and gained an up- 
per part of the trail. Here, quite at 
their ease, and in the utmost security, they 
were picking off with unerring aim one 
after another of the erstwhile besiegers. 
With a howl of triumph loud enough to 
split the hills, the band with Mr. Brion 
at their head, closed in on the enemy. It 
was almost a hand-to-hand fight, and a 


100 


The ''Corkscrew'" 


losing one from the start, and when the 
commander-in-chief seized the general of 
the opposing forces and washed his face 
with snow, the enemy capitulated. But 
to Turkey and Delia were conceded the 
honors of the victory. 

The battle, thus forced, ended the 
fighting for the day; and instead of go- 
ing farther up in the snow, the P. G.’s 
turned off the main trail and took an- 
other that plunged into a vast foliage- 
clad cleft where there were great pine 
trees, live-oaks, running brooks, singing 
birds, and butterflies. As they had 
walked into winter so they now walked 
out of it into summer. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE RESCUE 

O N a level pine-strewn plateau near a 
mountain brook the P. G.’s pitched 
camp, and luncheon was spread on the 
ground. Polly’s basket was particularly 
inviting, for Yuen had put up enough for 
half-a-dozen healthy appetites. There 
were sandwiches of peanut butter, cream 
cheese, pimentos, and chopped olives, 
crisp graham biscuits, deviled eggs and 
sweet pickles, cake and tarts, cracked 
English walnuts and a glass of crab apple 
jelly. All these delicacies were done up 
attractively in waxed paper. Beginning 
with the dainty pile of crepe paper nap- 
kins on top, Polly with an air of distinc- 
tion that carried weight with her admirers, 
shared her luncheon with all within help- 
ing distance. Turkey had furnished 
enough oranges from the Jungle orchard 
101 


102 


The Rescue 


for all, big navel oranges that were 
globes of luscious juice. 

The pack mules were relieved of their 
burdens, the saddles uncinched, and they 
and the shaggy burros were staked in the 
shade where they could eat and rest com- 
fortably. While the feast was in progress, 
the “battle of the corkscrew” was the 
subject of a more or less heated dis- 
cussion, and at last Mr. Brion called the 
opposed forces to order by proposing 
another contest, although of a widely dif- 
ferent character. The last mouthfuls 
were hastily swallowed, everything cleared 
away, and the scraps buried, for the P. 
G.’s belonged to the young people’s 
branch of the Civic Order Society, which 
applied even to mountain-tops. 

Mr. Brion then brought out a number 
of envelopes, which he distributed. Each 
envelope bore the name of a boy or girl, 
and contained a small pencil and card. 
Mr. Brion then explained that the cards 
were to be filled with the names of the 


The Rescue 


103 


trees, rocks, and wild flowers of the 
camping grounds, and for the P. G. who 
filled correctly his or her card first there 
would be a prize. The teacher warned 
the children that although the plateau 
seemed wide and safe, it was really a 
tableland lifted high between deep 
canyons, and that nothing must tempt 
them over the edge. An hour would be 
allowed for the filling in of the cards, at the 
end of which time a horn would be blown 
as a signal to come back. The P. G.’s 
then disappeared into the woods. Such 
a rustling in the chapparal, such shouts 
and calls, and now and then the sound of 
the geologic hammer, showing that some 
student was making more than a super- 
ficial study of the rocks! The children 
had been gone about half an hour, and 
Mr. Brion was reloading the pack mules 
and getting ready for departure, when 
suddenly there was a scream. It seemed 
to come from the ground under his feet, 
and with his blood running cold, Mr. 


104 


The Rescue 


Brion stopped to listen. Again there was 
a cry, and then there was a dash through 
the brush. It was Turkey, running like 
an Indian. Blowing his horn, and seiz- 
ing a coil of rope he had been using to 
stake out the animals, Mr. Brion followed 
at top speed, and came up in time to see 
Turkey disappear over the edge of the 
plateau. Looking over, what was the 
schoolmaster’s horror to see a little girl 
caught in the brush on a ledge of rock 
some feet below. It was a mere abut- 
ment of the pine-clad mountain flank, 
that went steeply down a thousand feet, 
and looked all swaying tree tops as far 
as the eye could reach. In another 
second, Turkey had the child in his arms 
— ^what a misstep would have cost it 
would not be hard to imagine! 

“Stay where you are, Terence!” Mr. 
Brion thundered. “Don’t move till I tell 
you!” 

He looked round for some tree, some 
bowlder, to which to attach his rope, but 


The Rescue 


105 


the nearest tree was a hundred yards 
away, and the ground was as bare of 
stones as a driveway. Tying the rope 
securely round his waist, Mr. Brion was 
about to throw the other end to Turkey 
when he paused. “Is she too badly hurt 
to be pulled up?” he called. 

“Yes. I’m afraid her arm is broken. 
IVe got to carry her — she’s helpless!” 

“Wait. I’ll be back in a moment!” 
Gathering up the rope as he went Mr. 
Brion was off like the wind, presently re- 
turning with a shorter rope used for pack- 
ing, and his hunting knife, which he had 
left behind. Unwinding the lariat round 
his body, he threw one end of it to 
Turkey. “Tie it securely round your 
waist,” he said. When this was done, he 
threw down the packing-rope. “Put her 
on your back,” he said, “she can hold on 
with her good arm. Tie her securely 
with the rope. You can do it — there’s 
room to turn round in. Hold on to the 
rope and come up. There’s a footing to 


106 


The Rescue 


your right. I will be your anchor. 
Wait till I signal.” 

With his hunting-knife Mr. Brion 
hastily made a foot-hold in the granite 
soil some feet away from the edge of 
the cliff. Seated on the ground, his heels 
dug into the holes he had made, Mr. Brion 
seized the rope, and bracing himself, 
pulled with all his might and main, trust- 
ing to his trained muscles, and the stay- 
ing power of his one hundred and eighty- 
five pounds to land Turkey and his 
charge. As the boy mounted step by 
step, Mr. Brion took up the slack rope, 
hand over hand. He heard nothing but 
the pounding of his heart, the roar of the 
blood in his ears. Just when the strain 
upon nerves and muscles seemed at the 
breaking point, half-a-dozen big stalwart 
boys, all P. G.’s, ran up. In silence two 
of them flung themselves upon the rope 
and tugged for dear life, while another, 
after a brief talk with his companions, 
went over the cliff, face down, held in 


The Rescue 


107 


his perilous position by a boy at each leg. 
Here he hung, ready to seize Turkey 
when he came within reach. In a few 
minutes more Turkey’s head reappeared 
over the cliff; and with a strong pull the 
boy and the child clinging to his back, 
were brought to safety. 

Polly, for Polly it was, began to cry, 
but on examination, it was found that her 
hurt was nothing worse than a broken 
collar-bone, although that was, indeed, 
bad enough. Her arm hung useless at 
her side, but she insisted upon being put 
on her feet, and although each step 
brough a groan to her lips she walked to 
camp, where, in obedience to the horn Mr. 
Brion had blown before going to the res- 
cue, the P. G.’s were straggling in. 
When Mr. Brion asked for bandages, 
Delia, with her accustomed quick-witted- 
ness, tore her white petticoat into strips. 
With these Mr. Brion tightly bandaged 
the child’s arm (fortunately her left arm) 
to her body to save, as much as possi- 


108 


The Rescue 


ble, any jar to the broken bone. Polly 
was then mounted on a burro; and in 
sympathetic silence, the P. G.’s set out 
on the homeward journey. 

Polly tried to be brave, but when they 
had climbed out of the glen, and were 
once more on the mountain trail, she could 
stand the jolting of the burro no longer, 
and looked ready to faint. A stretcher 
was hastily improvised out of a heavy 
shawl that was found among the extra 
wraps in one of the packs, and two cedar 
poles which were cut from the mountain 
side. Polly was then carefully placed 
on the stretcher and carried down the 
trail, the boys reheving one another by 
relays. Sometimes the stretcher, as it 
made a sharp turn, was at so perilous an 
angle that Polly shut her eyes and clung 
to the pole with her one free hand. But 
the boys picked their steps carefully, and 
after two harrowing hours, the descent 
was safely made. 

Mr. Brion telephoned to Mrs. Day 


The Rescue 


109 


from the nearest station, and when the 
subdued little procession came up to the 
house, the anxious mother was waiting on 
the veranda with a surgeon and nurse. 

“I’m all right, mother dear!” said 
Polly, trying to smile. “But it’s good 
to be home!” 

Lying on the stretcher, pale and weak, 
her arm bound to her body, the brave 
khaki suit stained with blood, Polly 
looked hke a small soldier borne off the 
field of battle. It was enough to move 
any mother’s heart. 

“Take her to the redwood room, boys, 
please,” Mrs. Day said, trying to keep 
back the tears. 

“No, please take me to my own room, 
mother dear.” 

Mrs. Day hesitated. 

“We’ve done the trail, Mrs. Day — ^it’s 
no worse,” said Turkey, who at that mo- 
ment was at one end of the stretcher. 
The boy smiled cheerfully, and he and 
his companion made off for the stairway. 


110 


The Rescue 


So Polly had her wish, and she was 
put to bed in her own bright little room 
where the long windows opened on the 
balcony, and she could see the dear old 
mountains from her pillow. 


CHAPTER XII 

“LILLY missy” 

I T was nearly two weeks since Polly had 
met with her accident. She was now 
allowed to sit up in bed, her arm still 
tightly bound to her body. The Jungle 
people were very kind and attentive to 
the little invalid. Turkey’s contribution 
towards Polly’s amusement was a lizard 
tethered by a slender chain to a big pin 
which could be staked anywhere. It was 
a graceful little creature, with a long 
slender tail, and beautifully marked with 
brown dots. Delia lent Billy, her horned 
toad. It had a string tied to its horns, 
and it was so tame that it would take milk 
and flies from Polly’s fingers. Whenever 
Billy felt himself watched he would make 
himself so fiat that he looked as if he could 
be passed under a closed door, and shut- 
ting his eyes would feign death. But a 
111 


112 


^^Lilly Missy^^ 


little tickling brought him to life, and in 
an ecstasy of enjoyment he would inflate 
his body until he was almost as round as a 
ball. 

When Jane first saw Polly lying on a 
sick bed, she broke into loud lamenta- 
tions. 

“It’s sorry I am for you, Polly dear,” 
she said, “but in what better place, I’m 
asking, could you have a broken bone than 
just here in Calif orny? And it’s a bless- 
ing we came,” the good woman said, some- 
what incoherently. 

Jane made an excellent nurse in the 
sick room, and now that Buddy was al- 
lowed to go about alone he put off his 
baby ways and suddenly assumed the dig- 
nity and the privileges of belated boy- 
hood. Three times a day Yuen presented 
himself at the threshold, tray in hand. 

“Velly solly, lilly Missy,” was his in- 
variable greeting; but although his Eng- 
lish was hmited, his dainty dishes were 
eloquent of the Chinaman’s sympathy. 


''Lilly Missy'' 


113 


One day when Yuen had set down his 
tray and gone, Polly said: 

“Have you ever thought, mother dear, 
that Yuen is a heathen?” 

“A heathen!” broke in Jane. “Hea- 
then or no heathen, I can say for meself 
that I never got along with any Christian 
girl in the kitchen like I get along with 
that Chinee. But, maybe, come to think, 
it’s because we don’t understand the 
other’s talk.” Jane nodded her head 
wisely. “I know, too,” she went on, 
“Christian or heathen, I never did eat 
such biscakes.” 

Mrs. Day and Polly laughed, and Jane 
looked gratified, for there was always a 
sly sense of humor in her remarks. 

“But, mother,” Polly went on, becom- 
ing serious again, “don’t you think we 
ought to do something for Yuen’s soul? 
Just think how St. Francis crossed the 
ocean and gave up his life for the Chinese, 
and how our dear old Padres worked in 
this country for the Indians.” 


114 


Lilly Missy’^ 


Mrs. Day saw that her daughter was 
stirred by a noble impulse, and the next 
time the “boy” came into the room, the 
mother said: 

“Yuen, do you know how to read and 
write?” 

“Yes, no — ^just lilly bit.” 

“My little daughter is going to teach 
you how to read and write, and every day 
you can come up here for your lessons.” 

“Velly much like to lead and lite,” the 
man said gratefully. 

The next day Polly was seated in a big 
chair at the window. Beside her was a 
table on which were books and writing 
materials, and Yuen had his first lesson. 
When he came with Polly’s tray the next 
morning, he drew from beneath his white 
apron his new copy-book. He had cov- 
ered pages and pages with a painstaking 
and creditable copy of the model set be- 
fore him, and Polly was delighted. 

“Allee days, I take lilly book and lead 


^^Lilly Missy’^ 


115 


and lite. Plenty lite,” the man said, his 
oblique eyes fairly dancing. 

It was astonishing the progress Yuen 
made, but at all hours of the day, when- 
ever he could spare a moment from his 
work, he might be seen poring over his 
books at his clean kitchen table. Some- 
times he decorated his book with blue, red, 
and purple which he got out of his color- 
ing extract bottles, and made his page 
look like the top of the famous Washing- 
ton Birthday meringue. One day Polly 
said, gravely: 

“Do you love Gdd, Yuen?” 

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. 

“I will tell you about God,” the child 
said. “You must love God, Yuen, or I 
won’t give you any more lessons!” 

Mrs. Day smiled to herself at Polly’s 
ingenuousness. 

“Lilly Missy love God?” he asked. 

“I should say!” Polly replied, in De- 
lia’s choice phrase. 


116 


Lilly Missy^^ 


“Me love God, too,” he said. 

The next time the good missionary 
Brother at the old mission of San Gabriel 
came to see Polly, the little girl told him 
about Yuen. The Padre talked to the 
man in his own language, and found him 
intelligent, but quite at sea as to what his 
little mistress meant about loving God. 
But when he understood that it was for 
the love of God that Polly was teaching 
him to read and write, and because God 
loved him, poor, ignorant, unworthy as he 
was, that He had sent “lilly Missy” clear 
across the continent to show him the way 
to the Blessed Country, Yuen’s mind be- 
gan to open to the great truth of Chris- 
tianity, which is love; and he was eager 
to learn more. It was a good half-day’s 
walk, there and back, to the missionary 
Fathers; but every Sunday afternoon 
Yuen went over the Camino Real, the 
king’s highway, the same road where so 
many years ago Padre Junipero Serra, 


''Lilly Missy’’ 


117 


had gone, weary and footsore, to call the 
Indians out of the wilderness to join him 
in praising God ! In the same missionary 
spirit the good old Brother taught his 
neophyte — and there in the shadow of the 
old mission church of San Gabriel, the 
Chinaman was prepared for baptism. 

Polly’s broken bone healed, her arm 
was taken out of the sling, and, except for 
a little stiffness that came from disuse, the 
child was as well as ever. Mr. Brion had 
called many times to see the little invalid, 
and he soon became an intimate friend of 
the house. 

“Polly,” he said, one day, “y^^ have 
never told me just how the accident oc- 
curred.” 

Polly turned red and her mother 
laughed. 

“My little girl is very ambitious, you 
must know,” Mrs. Day said. “When 
she saw certain red berries over the edge 
of the cliff she quite forgot your warning 


118 


^^Lilly Missy^^ 


and in her anxiety io secure something 
that she thought must be very rare, she 
went too close, lost her balance, and went 
over.” 

“Mother, dear, it wasn’t so much the 
berries,” Polly said, courageously, “but 
the wonderful color of the tree. The 
bark was deep red and very smooth, and 
all over it were satiny pale green patches. 
And the leaves shone as if they were var- 
nished. Somehow, it made everything 
else look dusty and faded.” 

“Why, Polly, do you know you are de- 
scribing the most beautiful tree in Alta- 
California!” said Mr. Brion, with enthusi- 
asm. “It is what is called the Madrona. 
I didn’t know it could be found in these 
mountain ranges. You are not the first 
person, my child, to discover the beauty 
of this tree. Have you Bret Harte’s 
poems?” 

Mrs. Day found the volume on the 
book shelves and Mr. Brion read, in his 
rich, expressive voice: 


Lilly Missy” 


119 


“Captain of the Western wood, 

Thou that apest Robin Hood! 
Green above thy scarlet hose. 

How thy velvet mantle shows! 
Never tree like thee arrayed. 

Oh, thou gallant of the glade. 

“When the fervid August sun 
Scorches all it looks upon. 

And the balsam of the pine 
Drops from stem to needle fine. 
Round thy compact shade arranged. 
Not a leaf of thee is changed! 

“When the yellow autumn sun 
Saddens all it looks upon. 

Spreads its sackcloth on the hills. 
Strews its ashes in the rills. 

Thou thy scarlet hose doth doff 
And in limbs of purest buff 
Challenges the somber glade 
For a sylvan masquerade. 

“Where, O where, shall we begin 
Who would paint thee. Harlequin? 
With thy waxen burnished leaf. 
With thy branches’ red relief. 


120 


^^Lilly Missy^^ 


With thy poly tinted fruit — 

In thy spring or autumn suit — 

Where begin, and oh! where end — 

Thou whose charms all art transcend?*" 

“You are a lucky little girl,” said Mr. 
Brion, when he put down the book, “to 
have come upon a tree so beautiful that 
our best beloved California writer should 
make it the subject of a lyric, and I don’t 
wonder that you risked something to get 
closer to it.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


GOING AWAY 

T he time was drawing near when 
Mrs. Day and her little family must 
leave the wonderful summer land where 
they had passed so many happy months. 
Yuen was to be baptized. Turkey was 
to be his godfather, and Polly was very 
anxious to be godmother, but it was de- 
cided that it would be better that Delia 
should hold that relation toward the 
Chinaman, as Polly would be so far away 
that it would make the spiritual kinship 
a mere form. 

On next to the last day they would all 
be together, Mrs. Day, Polly, Buddy, 
Jane, the Jungle people and Yuen Wong 
went in a big hay wagon, thickly bedded 
with sweet smelling alfalfa, to the mission 
church of old San Gabriel, Turkey, up 
on the high front seat, driving the two 
121 


122 


Going Away 

great dappled gray draught-horses that 
could have walked off with anything. 

There it stood, the venerable, fortress- 
like building, with its look of ripe matu- 
rity, the ancient walls as yellow as the 
valley grain fields, now in stubble, as mel- 
low as the harvested foothills that, in their 
yellow mantles, looked like huge hay- 
stacks against the blue sky. The grasses 
of field and roadside were so dry that they 
turned to chaff and crumbled to powder 
underfoot, giving out the pungent sweet 
smell of sage and anise. 

The old baptistry, in a wing of the 
church, was under a dome-like roof 
shaped like a half orange ; and its floor of 
red sun-baked bricks was worn hollow by 
feet that had passed by in the long ago. 
In the wide, shallow copper font, ham- 
mered out by the Indians in the Mission 
period, were the healing waters. Here, 
according to the records, twelve thousand 
Indians had been baptized; and it was 
here, too, that Yuen Wong received the 


123 


Going Away 

white robe of innocence. Turkey and 
Delia, both looking very tall and solemn, 
stood beside the faithful servant, feeling 
to the utmost the obligations they were 
assuming toward their little yellow 
brother. 

Yuen had on a voluminous costume of 
dark blue silk, so rich with embroidery 
that J ane whispered to Mrs. Day that she 
believed that Yuen Wong was a Chinee- 
Mandaree or a Chop-Suey in disguise! 
After the ceremony each had some little 
gift for the neophyte; but the one Yuen 
most prized was the rosary of crushed 
rose-petals “lilly Missy” had made for him 
herself. 

The whole party, after visiting the Mis- 
sion gardens, where there is a rose vine 
over a hundred years old with a trunk like 
a tree, went to the top of the Campanile, 
where the ancient bells hang. 

‘T will tell you the legend of the bells 
when story-telling time comes, children,” 
said Mrs. Scott. 


124 Going Away 

Then they all climbed into the wagon 
again and went leisurely through the 
beautiful San Gabriel valley, with its vine- 
yards and sugar-beet fields, and ragged 
groves of eucalyptus trees, till they came 
to a thick woods on the edge of the San 
Gabriel River. The clear, swift-fiowing 
stream in its silver channel of ghstening 
pebbles was a refreshing sight, where 
water is so rare; and narrow as the river 
was, there was a strip of beach on each 
side of its banks. The children went in 
wading, Jane with her little charge, and 
soon shouts were exchanged up and down 
stream as schools of minnows swam 
past bare feet, eluding the eager hands 
stretched out for them. 

Yuen had exchanged his gorgeous cos- 
tume for his usual neat uniform, and, in 
white apron, was busy making a fire on 
a bed of stones. While the logs were 
burning he spread a luncheon-cloth on the 
dry sand on the edge of a grove of cotton- 
woods covered with festoons of wild 


125 


Going Away 

grapevine. Out of the well-packed ham- 
per came, seemingly, an inexhaustible 
supply of good things to eat. But not 
yet did Yuen bow ceremoniously before 
his mistress. 

The logs had fallen into red coals, the 
stones were heated through and through. 
Unrolling a piece of heavy galvanized 
wire netting, Yuen stretched his impro- 
vised gridiron over the coals ; and using a 
sharpened stick as fork, was soon broiling 
thick sirloin steaks with as much dexterity 
as over his kitchen range. 

“A barbecue, a barbecue!” shouted 
Turkey. Never was there such a meal, 
never did meat taste like Yuen’s barbecue, 
and when milk for the little ones and 
fresh-made coffee for the elders were 
brought on, it was a feast indeed! 

To finish up, there were marshmallows 
skewered on long pointed sticks to be 
toasted over the still red coals; and then 
once more the never-ending delights of 
the quick-running stream. No need to 


126 


Going Away 

hurry home, for after the long day came 
to an end there would be moonlight! 

Suddenly the Angelus of the old Mis- 
sion bells rang clear, sweet, and penetra- 
ting across the valley. It was the signal 
for the promised story. 

“This is the legend of the bells,” said 
Mrs. Scott when her audience, Yuen in- 
cluded, had gathered about her on the 
level banks of the little river that was 
beginning to turn red under the sunset 
sky. 

“When the old Padres sailed from 
Spain, many years ago, a young soldier, 
by the name of Don Rafael, went with 
them. Now, he loved a beautiful young 
Spanish maiden named Augustias. Just 
as soon as he returned from the new 
country they were to be married. But 
Don Rafael was killed by the treacherous 
arrow of an Indian, and was buried within 
the Mission walls. The ship that should 
have brought back the young soldier to 
his sweetheart carried for Augustias only 


127 


Going Away 

the sad news of her lover’s death. Poor 
Augustias, how she grieved for him, how 
she prayed for himl Spain’s gift to the 
new Mission church was to be a chime 
of bells. On the day the bells were to be 
cast, Augustias went to the spot, and 
when the red hot metal was poured into 
the molds, the maiden threw all her 
jewels, the most precious of which were 
a ring and a gold cross that Rafael had 
given her, into the seething furnace. 

“ ‘Bells, you can go, but I must stay,’ 
she said, ‘so take to my dear love all my 
love and prayers!’ 

“Men and women who stood by wept 
aloud so sorrowful was the sight of the 
stricken maid, and then, tearing off their 
ornaments, they, too, flung them into the 
molten mass, so that with the metal of the 
bells were mixed gold, silver, and pre- 
cious stones. 

“The next time the Angelas rings from 
the old Mission tower listen and you will 
hear the bells say ‘Rafael! Rafael! Ra- 


128 Going Away 

fael!’ three times, and then die away in 
a long sigh.” 

So deep was the silence that followed 
upon the story that the low, sweet, peep- 
ing notes of the spotted sandpipers 
running along the edge of the water on 
the opposite shore could be distinctly 
heard. 

The next afternoon the same party was 
gathered on the platform of the Santa 
Fe station. The Days were going away! 
The Jungle people were laden with pack- 
ages of a more or less mysterious size and 
shape ; but none of these were to be 
opened till the train started. Delia whis- 
pered to Polly, “Open mine first — don’t 
forget!” 

Everybody was resolved to be cheerful 
and to make the most of the last precious 
minutes. They would all meet again — 
so each one separately and in a body, said, 
over and over — if not on this side of the 
continent, the other. Polly’s lizard was 
securely tethered against the breast of her 


129 


Going Away 

frock, and, with a fine instinct of self- 
preservation, had climbed up to his little 
mistress’ shoulder, where he would be 
well out of the way of farewell hugs. 

Just at the last minute, Mr. Brion 
came along with great strides. He had 
a package, too. 

“Polly,” he said, after shaking hands 
all around, “the P. G.’s have decided that 
the prize belongs to you for tumbling over 
the cliff in the cause of science, and, 
incidentally, discovering the Madrona. 
But don’t open the package till you are 
on the train!” 

Mr. Brion’s words caused such excite- 
ment that everybody forgot that it was 
a going-away party ; and when the porter 
called out “All aboard!” Turkey, Delia, 
the schoolmaster, and Yuen Wong made 
such a dash for traveling bags and things, 
and the Days, even to Buddy, made such 
a scramble for the coach, that there was 
a general shout. And so, with laughing 
faces on the platform, and laughing faces 


130 


Going Away 

at the windows, the Days and their Cali- 
fornia friends parted. 

As soon as the train pulled out Polly 
opened her packages, beginning with De- 
lia’s, as she had been asked. 

“It’s Billy,” she cried, “it’s dear old 
Billy!” She took the horned toad out 
of his perforated box, and kissing him on 
his thorny nose staked him out on a vacant 
seat. 

Turkey’s gift was a carefully mounted 
trap-door spider along with its silk-lined 
home. Then Polly unwrapped Mr. 
Brion’s gift. 

“Look, mother, it’s a book — ‘Trees of 
California’ — beautifully illustrated. And 
here’s what it says : 

“ ‘From the P. G.’s to P. D., the little 
girl from Back East.’ ” 

Among the gifts was a wonderfully 
lifelike mechanical squirrel for Buddy, 
and a lot of things to read and eat for 
Mrs. Day. Nor was Jane forgotten. It 
was not until they came to the delicacies 


131 


Going Away 

that Yuen had put up that they discov- 
ered a long, flat, shallow box. It was 
unmarked, and Mrs. Day, opening the 
box, shook out from the folds of scented 
tissue paper a beautiful silk kimona just 
big enough for Polly embroidered with 
chrysanthemums, and tucked away in a 
corner was a card embellished with the 
familiar red and blue of the coloring ex- 
tracts, inscribed, in a careful hand, “Lilly 
Missy.” 

All these repeated proofs of the love 
and kindness of the friends she was leav- 
ing were almost too much for Polly. The 
beautiful summer land was getting every 
minute farther away. The little girl’s 
face clouded; a “misty moisty Day” was 
threatening when Jane said, impressively, 
looking at Yuen’s gift: 

“What have I been after telling yees 
all along! He’s a Chinee-Mandaree, 
Chop-Suey, sure! And what we’ve been 
having in our kitchen cooking for us all 
winter is one of them Chinee Micadoes! 


132 


Going Away 

If we hadn’t been forehanded, and made 
a Christian out of him first, it’s no telhng 
but he’d have smuggled us all over the 
ocean to his own land and made heathens 
out of ivery wan of us !” 

And then, before the cloud could settle 
down upon Polly’s face again, Jane 
wound up the mechanical squirrel and 
sent him hopping along the general 
passageway. 


PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK 


Senzfger Brothers' New Plan for Disseminating Catholic Literature 

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The following pages contain a list of the books in our Cath- 
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Though the books are sold on easy payments, the prices are 
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Any library advertised in these pages will be sent to you 
immediately on receipt of $1.00. 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

The Plan forForming Readmg Circles 

Dues only 10 Cents a Month. 

A New Book Every Month ) Total Cost for 
|i 2 Worth of Books to Read J a Year, $1.20 
THIS EXPLAINS THE PLAN 

You form a Reading Club, say of 
twelve members, and order one of the 
Libraries from us. 

Each member pays you ten cents a 
month, and you remit us $1.00 a month, 
thus paying us for the books. 

On receipt of the first dollar we 
will send you a complete library. 

You give each member a book. After 
a month all the members return their 
books to you and you give them another one. The books are 
exchanged in this way every month till the members have read 
the twelve volumes in the Library. After the twelfth month 
the books may be divided among the members (each getting one 
book to keep) or the books may be given to your Pastor for a 
oarish library. 

Then you can order from us a second Library on the same 
terms as above. In this way you can keep up your Reading 
Circle from year to year at a trifling cost. 

On the following pages will be found a list of the books in 
the different Libraries. They are the best that can be had. 

Mail a dollar bill to-day and any Library will be forwarder 
at once. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

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THE OTHER 
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Or if, instead of form- 
ing a Reading Circle, 
you wish to get a 
Library for yourself 
or your family, all 
you need do is to re- 
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any Library will be 
forwarded to you at 
once. Then you pay 
One Dollar a month. 


1 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

Dues, 10 cents a Month 2 New Books Every Month 

JUVENILE BOOKS 

20 Copyrighted Stories for the Young, by the Best Authors 
Special Net Price, $10.00 
You get the books at once, and have the use of them, while 

making easy payments. Read explanation on first page, 

JUVENILE LIBRARY A 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A START. By Rev. F. J. 
Finn, S.T. “Best boy’s book that ever came from the press.” 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. Spald- 
ing, S.J. “This is a story full of go and adventure.” 

HARRY RUSSELL, A ROCKLAND COLLEGE BOY. By 
Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “Father Copus takes the college 
hero where Father Finn has left him, through the years 
to graduation.” 

CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. 
Father Bearne shows a wonderful knowledge and fine ap- 
preciation of boy character. 

NAN NOBODY. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Keeps one fas- 
cinated till the last page is reached.” 

LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCARLET. By Marion ^ A. 
Taggart. “Will help keep awake the strain of hero worship.” 

THE GOLDEN LILY. By Katharine T. Hinkson. “Another 
proof of the author’s wonderful genius.” 

THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A 
bright, sparkling book.” 

OLD CHARLMONT’S SEED-BED. By Sara T. Smith. “A 
delightful story of Southern school life.” 

THE MADCAP SET AT ST. ANNE’S. By Marion J. 
Brunowe. “Plenty of fun, with high moral principle.” 

BUNT AND BILL. By Clara Mulholland. “There are 
passages of true pathos and humor in this pretty tale.” 

THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. By Maurice F. Egan. 
“They are by no means faultless young people and their 
hearts lie in the right places.” 

PICKLE AND PEPPER. By Ella L. Dorsey. “This story 
is clever and witty — there is not a dull page.” 

A HOSTAGE OF WAR. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “A wide- 
awake story, brimful of incident and easy humor.” 

AN EVERY DAY GIRL. By Mary T. Crowley. “One of the 
few tales that will appeal to the heart of every girl.” 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. By Mary E. Mannix. “This book will 
make a name for itself.” 

AN HEIR OF DREAMS. By S. M. O’Malley. “The book is 
destined to become a true frietid of our boys.” 

THE MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
Sure to stir the blood of every real boy and to delight with 
its finer touches the heart of every true girl. 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS. By Lillian Mack. A real child’s tale. 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. ^ By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. 
“His sympathy with boyhood is so evident and bis under- 
standing so perfect.” 


2 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special Net F*jrlce, $10.00 
$1.00 down, $ 1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page 

JUVENILE LIBRARY B 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE. By Rev. F. J. 
Finn, S.J. Profusely illustrated. “A delightful story by 
Father Finn, which will be popular with the girls as well 
as with the boys.” 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. 
Spalding, S.J. “From the outset the reader’s attention is 
captivated and never lags.” 

SAINT CUTHBERT’S. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “A truly 
inspiring tale, full of excitement.” 

THE TAMING OF POLLY. By Ella Loraine Dorsey. “Polly 
with her cool head, her pure heart and stern Western sense 
of justice.” 

STRONG-ARM OF AVALON. By Mary T. Waggaman. 
“Takes hold of the interest and of the heart and never 
lets go.” 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. By C. May. “Courage, 
truth, honest dealing with friend and foe.” 

A KLONDIKE PICNIC. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. “Alive 
with the charm that belongs to childhood.” 

A COLLEGE BOY. By Anthony Yorke. “Healthy, full of 
life, full of incident.” 

THE GREAT CAPTAIN. By Katharine T. Hinkson. 
“Makes the most interesting and delightful reading.” 

THE YOUNG COLOR GUARD. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 
“The attractiveness of the tale is enhanced by the realness 
that pervades it.” 

THE HALDEMAN CHILDREN. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full 
of people entertaining, refined, and witty.” 

PAULINE ARCHER. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Sure to cap- 
tivate the hearts of all juvenile readers.” 

THE ARMORER OF SOLINGEN. By W. Herchenbach. 
“Cannot fail to inspire honest ambition.” 

THE INUNDATION. By Canon Schmid. “Sure to please 
the young readers for whom it is intended.” 

THE BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. By Marion A. Tag- 
gart. “Pleasing and captivating to young people.” 

DIMPLING’S SUCCESS. By Clara Mulholland. “Vivacious 
and natural and cannot fail to be a favorite.” 

BISTOURI. By A. Melandri. “How Bistouri traces out the 
plotters and foils them makes interesting reading.” 

FPED’S LITTLE DAUGHTER. By Sara T. Smith. “The 
heroine wins her way into the heart of every one.” 

THE SEA-GULL’S ROCK. By J. Sandeau. “The intrepidity 
of the little hero will pppeal to every boy.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First Series. A collection of 
twenty stories by the foremost writers, vrith illustrations. 


8 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special Net Price, $10.00 
$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

JUVENILE LIBRARY C 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A BOY OF HIM.^ By Rev. 
F. J. Finn, S.J. “The most successful Catholic juvenile 
published.” 

THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. By Rev. H. S. Spald- 
ing, S.J. “Father Spalding’s descriptions equal those of 
Cooper.” 

SHADOWS LIFTED. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “We know 
of no books more delightful and interesting. ’ 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY, AND OTHER 
STORIES. By Maurice F. Egan. “A choice collection of 
stories by one of the most popular writers.” 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE KNIGHT. By C. May. “Chap- 
ters of breathless interest.” 

MILLY AVELING. By Sara Trainer Smith. “The best 
story Sara Trainer Smith has ever written." 

tHE TRANSPLANTING OF TESSiE. By Mary T. Wagga- 
MAN. “An excellent girl’s story.” 

THE PLAYWATER PLOT. By Mary T. Waggaman. “How 
the plotters are captured and the boy rescued makes a very 
interesting story.” 

AN ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. By Gabriel 

F ERRY 

PANCHO'aND PANCHITA. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full of 
color and warmth of life in old Mexico.” 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 
“Many a boyish heart will beat in envious admiration of 
little Tommy.” 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. By Marion A. Taggart. “A 
creditable book in every way.” 

THE QUEEN’S PAGE. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. 
“Will arouse the young to interest in historical matters 
and is a good story well told.” 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
“Sprightly, interesting and well written.” 

BOB-O’LINK. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Every boy and girl 
will be delighted with Bob-o’Link.” 

THREE GIRLS AND^ ESPECIALLY ONE. By Marion A. 
Taggart. “There is an exquisite charm in the telling.” 

WRONGFULLY ACCUSEI). By W. Herchenbach. “A simple 
tale, entertainingly told.” 

THE CANARY BIRD. By Canon Schmid. “The story is a 
fine one and will be enjoyed by boys and girls.” 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The children who 
are blessed with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second Series. A collection 
of twenty stories by the foremost writers, illustrated. 


4 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special ISIet F*rice, $10.00 
.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

JUVENILE LIBRARY D 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. 
“Here is a story for boys that bids fair to equal any of 
Father Finn’s successes.” 

THE MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. By George Barton. There 
is a peculiar charm about this novel that the discriminating 
reader will ascribe to the author’s own personality. 

HARMONY FLATS. By C. S. Whitmore. The characters 
are all drawn true to life, and the incidents are exciting. 

WAYWARD WINIFRED. By Anna T. Sadlier. A story for 
girls. Its youthful readers will enjoy the vivid description, 
lively conversation, and the many striking incidents. 

TOM LOSELY : BOY. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. Illustrated. 
The writer knows boys boy nature, and small-boy 

nature too. 

MORE FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The 
children who are blessed with such stories have much to be 
thankful for.” 

JACK O’LANTERN. By Mary T. Waggaman. This book is 
alive with interest. It is full of life and incident. 

THE BERKLEYS. By Emma Howard Wight. A truly in- 
spiring tale, full of excitement. There is not a dull page. 

LITTLE MISSY. By Mary T. Waggaman. A charming story 
for children which will be enjoyed by older folks as well. 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. By Mary T. Waggaman. Full of fun 
and charming incidents — a book that every boy should read. 

CHILDREN OF CUPA. By Mary E. Mannix. One of the 
most thoroughly unique and charming books that has found 
its way to the reviewing desk in many a day. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. By Katharine T. Hinkson. This 
book is more than a story, and it is well written. 

THE DOLLAR HUNT. From the French by E. G. Martin. 
Those who wish to get a fascinating tale should read this. 

THE VIOLIN MAKER. From the original of Otto v. Schach- 
ING, by Sara Trainer Smith. There is much truth in this 
simple little story. 

“JACK.^’ By S. H. C J. As loving and lovable a little fellow 
as there is in the world is “Jack.” 

A SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. By Anna T. Sadlier. This 
is a beautiful book, in full sympathy with and delicately 
expressive of the author’s creations. 

DADDY DAN. By Mary T. Waggaman. A fine boys’ story. 

THE BELL FOUNDRY. By Otto v. Schaching. So interest- 
ing that the reader will find it hard to tear himself away. 

TOORALLADDY. By Julia C. Walsh. An exciting story of 
the varied fortunes of an orphan boy from abject poverty 
in a dismal cellar to success. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE, Third Series. A collection of 
twenty stories by the foremost writers. 

5 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

Dues, 10 Cents a Month A New Book Every Month 

NOVELS 

12 OopyriglitecL Novels by tbe Best A-utbors 
Speoial Brice, $12.00 

You get the books at once, and have the use of them while 
making easy payments 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. I 

THE RULER OF THE KINGDOM. By Grace Keon. “Will 
charm any reader.” 

KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. By J. Harrison. “A 
real, true life history, the kind one could live through and 
never read it for romance. . . .” 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. By Marion A. Taggart. 
Illustrated. “A tale of the time of Henry V. of England, 
full of adventure and excitement.” 

HEARTS OF GOLD. By I. Edhor. “It is a tale that will 
leave its reader the better for knowing its heroine, her 
tenderness and her heart of gold.” 

THE HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. By Countess Hahn- 
Hahn. “An exquisite story of life- and love, told in touch- 
ingly simple words.” 

THE PILKINGTON HEIR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Skill and 
strength are shown in this story. The plot is well con- 
structed and the characters vividly differentiated.” 

THE OTHER MISS LISLE. A Catholic novel of South 
African life. By M. C. Martin. A powerful story by a 
writer of distinct ability. 

IDOLS; OR, THE SECRET OF THE RUE CHAUSSEE D’AN- 
TlN. By Raoul de Navery. “The story is a remarkably 
clever one; it is well constructed and evinces a master hand.” 

THE SOGGARTH AROON - By Rev. Joseph Guinan, C.C. 
A capital Irish story. 

THE VOCATION OF EDWaRD CONWAY. By Maurice F. 
Egan. _ “This is a novel of modern American life. The 
scene is laid in a pleasant colony of cultivated people on 
the banks of the Hudson, not far from West Point.” 

A WOMAN OF FORTUNE. By Christian Reid. “That great 
American Catholic novel for which so much inquiry is made, 
a story true in its picture of Americans at home and abroad.” 

PASSING SHADOWS. By Anthony Yorke. “A thoroughly 
charming story. It sparkles from first to last with interest- 
ing situations and dialogues that are full of sentimeat, 
There is not a slow page.” 


6 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Special Net Price, $12.00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 


LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. II 

THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S WAGER, and Other Stories. 
30 stories by 30 of the foremost Catholic writers. 

A DAUGHTER OF KINGS. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. 
“The book is most enjoyable.” 

THE WAY THAT LED BEYOND. By J. Harrison. “The 
story does not drag, the plot is well worked out, and th-e 
interest endures to the very last page.” 

CORINNE’S VOW. By Mary T. Waggaman. With 16 full- 
page illustrations. “There is genuine artistic merit in its 
plot and life-story. It is full of vitality and action.” 

THE FATAL BEACON. Bv F. v. Brackel. “The story is 
told well and clearly, and has a certain charm that will be 
found interesting. The principle characters are simple, 
good-hearted people, and the heroine’s high sense of courage 
impresses itself upon the reader as the tale proceeds.” 

THE MONK’S PARDON: An Historical Romance of the Time 
of Philip IV. of Spain. By Raoul de Navery. “A story 
full of stirring incidents and written in a lively, attrac- 
tive style.” 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. By Walter Lecky. “The char- 
acters are life-like and there is a pathos in the checkered 
life of the heroine. Pere Monnier is a memory that will 
linger.” 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER GERARD. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
“One of the most thoroughly original and delightful ro- 
mances ever evolved from the pen of a Catholic writer.” 

THE UNRAVELING OF A TANGLE. By Marion A. Tag- 
gart. With four full-page illustrations. “This story tells of 
the adventures of a young American girl, who, in order to 
get possession of a fortune left her by an uncle whom she 
had never seen, goes to France.” 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. By Henry M. Ross. “A well- 
told story of American life, the scene laid in Boston, New 
York and California. It is very interesting.” 

FABIOLA’S SISTER. (A companion volume to Cardinal 
Wiseman’s “Fabiola.”) Adapted by A. C. Clarke. “A book 
to read — a worthy sequel to that masterpiece, ‘Fabiola. 

THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE: A Novel. By A. de La- 
MOTHE. “A capital novel with plenty of go in it. 


7 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Special Net F*rlce, $12.00 
$I .00 down, $ 1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. Ill 

“NOT A JUDGMENT.” By Grace Keon. “Beyond doubt the 
best Catholic novel of the year.” 

THE RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A 
story of stirring times in France, when the sturdy Vendeans 
rose in defence of country and religion.” 

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER. By Katharine Tynan Hink- 
SON. “So dramatic and so intensely interesting that the 
reader will find it difficult to tear himself away from the 
story.” 

OUT OF BONDAGE. By M. Holt. “Once his book becomes 
known it will be read by a great many.” 

MARCELLA GRACE. By Rosa Mulholland. Mr. Gladstone 
called this novel a masterpiece. 

THE CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. By F. v. Brackel. 
This work has achieved a remarkable success for a Catholic 
novel, for in less than a year three editions were printed. 

CARROLL DARE. By Mary T. Waggaman. Illustrated. “A 
thrilling story, with the dash of horses and the clash of 
swords on every side.” 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. By Miles Keon. “Dion is as 
brilliantly, as accurately and as elegantly classical, as 
scholarly in style and diction, as fascinating in plot and as 
vivid in action as Ben Hur.” 

HER BLIND FOLLY. By H. M. Ross. A clever story with 
an interesting and well-managed plot and many striking 
situations. 

MISS ERIN. By M. E. Francis. “A captivating tale of Irish 
life, redolent of genuine Celtic wit, love and pathos.” 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. By Walter Lecky. “The figures 
who move in rugged grandeur through these pages are as 
fresh and unspoiled in their way as the good folk of 
Drumtochty.” 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. By Mrs. W. M. Bert- 
HOLDS. “A story of which the spirit is so fine and the 
Catholic characters so nobly conceived.” 


8 


Continuation Library 


YOU SUBSCRIBE FOR FOUR NEW 
NOVELS A YEAR, TO BE MAILED 
TO YOU AS PUBLISHED, AND 
RECEIVE BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 
FREE. 

Each year we publish four new novels by the 
best Catholic authors. These novels are interest- 
ing beyond the ordinary — not religious, but Cath- 
olic in tone and feeling. They are issued in the 
best modern style. 

We ask you to give us a standing order for 
these novels. The price is $1.25, which will be 
charged as each volume is issued, and the volume 
sent postage paid. 

As a special inducement for giving us a stand- 
ing order for the novels, we shall include free a 
subscription to Benziger's Magazine. Benzige/s 
Magazine is recognized as the best and hand- 
somest Catholic periodical published, and we are 
sure will be welcomed in every library. The 
regular price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year — paid $1.25 at a time 
— you will get four good books and receive in 
addition a year's subscription to Benzige/s 
Magazine. The Magazine will be continued 
from year to year, as long as the standing order 
for the novels is in force, which will be till 
countermanded. 


EAMOUS 

ROUND TABLE SERIES 

4 VOLUMES, $e.OO 
60 Oeints Do'wn; 60 Cents a Xlontti 
On payment of 50 cents you get the books and a free sub- 
scription to Benziger’s Magazine 
The Greatest Stories by the Foremost Catholic Writers in the World 
With Portraits of the Authors, Sketches of their Lives, and 
a List of their Works. Four exquisite volumes, containing the 
masterpieces of 36 of the foremost writers of America,- Eng- 
land, Ireland, Germany, and France. Each story complete. 
Open any volume at random and you will find a great story to 
entertain you. 

» SPECIAL OEEER-»» 

In order to place this fine collection of stories in every 
home, we make the following special offer: Send us 50 cents 
and the four fine volumes will be sent to you immediately. 
Then you pay 50 cents each month until $6.00 has been paid. 


LIBRARY OF SHORT STORIES 


BY A BRILLIANT ARRAY OF CATHOLIC AUTHORS 
ORIGINAL STORIES BY 33 WRITERS 
Four handsome volumes and Benziger’s Magazine for a year 
at the Special Price of $5.00 
60 Cents Down; 60 Cents a Montlni 
You get the books at once, and have the use of them while 
making easy payments. Send us only 50 cents, and we will 
forward the books at once; 50 cents entitles you to immediate 
possession. No further payment need be made for a month; 
afterwards you pay 60 cents a month. 


Anna T. Sadlier 
Mary E. Mannix 
Mary T. Waggaman 
Jerome Harte 
Mary G. Bonesteel 
Magdalen Rock 
Eugenie Uhlrich 
Alice Richardson 
Katharine Jenkins 
Mary Boyle O’Reilly 
Clara Mulholland 
Grace Keon 
Louisa Emily Dobree 
Theo, Gift 
Margaret E. Jordan 
Agnes M. Rowe 
Julia C. Walsh 


STORIES BY 

Madge Mannix 
Leigh Gordon Giltner 
Eleanor C. Donnelly 
Teresa Stanton 
H. J. Carroll 

Rev. T. J. Livingstone, S.J. 
Marion Ames Taggart 
Maurice Francis Egan 
Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Mrs. Francis Chadwick 
Catherine L. Meagher 
Anna Blanche McGill 
Mary Catherine Crowley 
Katharine Tynan Hinkson 
Sallie Margaret O’Malley 
Emma Howard Wight 


10 


900 PAGES 500 ILLUSTRATIONS 

A GREAT OKKER! 

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD 

and 

SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST 

And of His Virgin Mother Mary 

FROM THE ORIGINAL OF 

Iv. C. BUSINGER, LIy.D. 

BY 

Rev. RICHaiRD BRENNAN, LL.D. 


Quarto, half morocco, full gilt side, gilt edges, 
900 pages, 500 illustrations in the text 
and 32 full-page illustrations by 

M. FEUERSTEIN 

PRICE NET $10.00 

Easy Payment Plan, 

$1.00 DOWN, $1.00 A MONTH 

Mail $1.00 to-day and the book will be shipped 
to you immediately. Then you pay $1.00 
a month till $10.00 is paid. 

This is not only a Life of Christ and of His 
Blessed Mother, but also a carefully condensed 
history of God’s Church from Adam to the end 
of the world in type, prophecy, and fulfilment, it 
contains a popular dogmatic theology and a real 
catechism of perseverance, filled with spiritual 
food for the soul. 


11 


The Best Stories and Articles. Over 1000 Illustradons a Year. 


BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

The Popular Catholic Family Monthly 

Recommended by 70 Archbishops and Bishops of the 
United States 

SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 A YEAR 


What Benziger’s Magazine gives its Readers : 

Fifty complete stories by the best writers — equal to a book of 
300 pages selling at $1.25. 

Three complete novels of absorbing interest— equal to three 
books selling at $1.25 each. 

Over 1000 beautiful illustrations. 

Twenty-five large reproductions of celebrated paintings. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on travel and 
adventure; on the manners, customs and home-life of 
peoples; on the haunts and habits of animal life, etc. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on our country; 
historic events, times, places, important industries. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on the fine arts: 
celebrated artists and their paintings, sculpture, music, etc., 
and nature studies. 

Twelve pages of games and amusements for in and out of doors. 

Fifty pages of fashions, fads and fancies, gathered at home 
and abroad, helpful hints for home workers, household 
column, cooking receipts, etc. 

'‘Current Events,” the important happenings over the whole 
world, described with pen and pictures. 

Vwelve prize competitions, in which valuable prizes are offered. 

This is what is given in a single year of 
Benziger’s Magazine. 

Send $2.00 now and become a subscriber to the best and hand- 
somest Catholic Magazine published. 

BKNZIGER BROTHERS 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36-38 Barclay St. 343 Main St. 211-213 Madison St. 


12 


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